Unicorns by the Fountain of Youth
by CatJetRat
Summary: Sam and Dean struggle to find a cure for the effects of the trials. The quest will take them halfway across the world. Sam/Dean Wincest


Unicorns by the Fountain of Youth

**Chapter 1**

The Impala's tires squealed as Dean took off towards the Batcave, Sam wheezing and shivering beside him.

"Hang in there, Sammy," Dean muttered, accelerating.

Angels were continuing to fall from the sky, bright lights dimming as they neared the earth. More than once Dean had to swerve around a crater. He didn't stop to look inside.

Part of him wanted to take Sam to the emergency room. A larger part knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, Dean had no idea if the fallen angels would be at full power or not, and the last thing either of them needed was to be vulnerable to thousands of pissed off celestial beings looking for someone to blame. So the bunker it was.

For almost as long as Dean could remember, his life was spent on the road between crap motels and abandoned houses, burning in the Texas heat and freezing in the Montana cold. When he was a kid, time in the Impala meant time with heat and air conditioning, and time when he knew exactly where his family was, so the hours bled together in comfort and peace, the most he ever got. It wasn't until Sam split that time started to mean anything between those metal walls. Every second he spent in the Impala was a second in which Sammy could be hurt, or in danger, and Dean would have no way to help him, not with Dad behind the wheel.

Then Dad gave him the Impala and let him go on his own hunts and, while his perception of time didn't change, he at least knew that if Sam called, he could go to him. But Dad disappeared and Dean got Sam back, and time started to mean less, because even though Dad was gone, Dean knew he was alive, and capable of taking care of himself. When Dad died, time stopped meaning anything at all again, because as long as he was in the Impala, his only family was beside him again, safe, and likely gassy or snoring. Even after he sold his soul and only had a year left, as long as Sam was beside him, that stayed the same.

Yet now, every second behind the wheel meant a second in which they could run into a formidable, vengeful angel, and Dean would have no way of protecting Sam. It took over 22,000 of those seconds before Dean pulled up in front of their bunker in Lebanon. He was terrified for every single one.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said urgently. "We've gotta get inside."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled. "'Course."

Dean all but carried Sam out of the car and down the steps.

"Hang on, little brother," Dean said, unlocking the door and trying to open it.

It didn't budge.

"Dammit," Dean snarled. "Open the door, Kevin!" he shouted, banging his fist against the metal. More agonizing seconds ticked by, and the door remained stubbornly shut.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said gently, lowering him to the ground and leaning him against the stairs. "Just stay there for a sec."

"I'll try not to go anywhere," Sam croaked out dryly, and Dean felt a tiny wave of relief that Sam felt well enough to be sarcastic.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Kevin's number.

"Dean?"

"Kevin! Thank god. Why the hell is the bunker locked?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know," Kevin said helplessly. "I was walking up the stairs, and suddenly all these alarms started going off, and the machines turned themselves on, and a bunch of red dots lit up all over that…that map table thing, almost like bombs had been dropped at every point. Did…are the angels falling? Was Naomi telling the truth?"

"Yeah," Dean exhaled sharply. "She was. So, what, our secret lair's gone into nuclear lockdown mode?"

"I guess. After all the alarms went off, the entrance bolted itself. I can't figure out how to undo it."

"Okay, Kev, uh, try turning off the power," Dean suggested.

"How do I do that?"

"There should be a metal box on the wall close to the door. Open it, and inside there are two levers. Pull them both down," Dean instructed.

"Give me a second." There was a shuffling sound, and Dean could hear the metal box being opened, and two heavy clangs as the levers were pulled down. "Okay, try the door."

It still wouldn't open. "Kevin, it didn't work. There must be some sort of mechanism in place in case the power shuts down. Turn it back on."

Two more heavy clangs. Dean tried the door again, but nothing. "Son of bitch." Desperation started to claw its way up his throat. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to relax.

"Dean, what should I do?" Kevin asked anxiously.

"I'm working on it." Dean held the phone to his chest and knelt beside Sam. "Sammy, I know you're hurting, but you know the Men of Letters best. Do you have any idea where they might have put some sort of…turn off lockdown button?"

"Um…" Sam blinked, face screwing up in concentration. "I don't know. Maybe there's a code. But I have no idea what it might be, or where to even enter it."

Dean swallowed. "Crap." Then his eyes lit up. "Kevin, I need to call a friend. If we're lucky, she'll be calling you in the next five minutes."

Charlie picked up on the first ring.

"Dean? What the frack is going on? Every channel and major news site is on emergency mode. They're all convinced the North Koreans finally got their hands on some nuclear weaponry."

"It's the angels. They're falling from Heaven, but that's not important right now."

"Not important?! But—"

"Listen to me, Sam and I are locked out of the bunker—it's gone into some kind of lockdown, and we need to get inside. The angels are probably going to be pissed as all hell, and we'll be the first people they go after to figure out what happened. We have a guy inside right now. Is there any way you could talk him through how to get it open?"

"I don't—probably, but—"

"Just call him, so I can get Sam inside. He couldn't fight a damned butterfly right now, let alone a Hulked out angel. Please, Charlie. I…I need him safe. We can Q&A later." Dean held his breath while she stayed silent.

"Okay, fine," she conceded. "What's his name?"

Dean gave her Kevin's info, and added, "Charlie? After you walk him through it, get here, and bring all the food you can."

"This is bad, isn't it?" she said softly.

"Yeah," Dean said, looking down. "It's pretty bad."

"I'll see you soon."

Dean went and sat beside Sam, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Sammy. You're gonna be just fine. I'm here."

Sam nodded wearily, continuing to flinch in pain. Dean pressed the back of his hand against Sam's forehead. It was cold, and clammy. Dean had no idea if that was worse than the fever. He wrapped his jacket around Sam's shoulders.

"It'll be okay," he repeated, rubbing a hand up and down Sam's back, but he wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to reassure at that point. Sam didn't respond. Dean sat and stressed about the fact that they might not get inside before one of the angels found them and told the others. The Enochian markings on their ribs weren't going to do a damn thing if one of the ten thousand or however many angels wandering around happened to spot them. The bunker may be safe against demons and other supernatural beings, but they hadn't warded it against angels in case Cas needed to get in.

The door opened.

Dean was on his feet before he even realized he had moved, dragging Sam with him. Kevin grinned. "Man, I have never been so happy to see you," Dean said, shuffling inside under Sam's weight. "What did you end up doing?"

"I don't know, she had me punch a bunch of buttons on that computer thing over there and then the doors opened," Kevin shrugged.

Dean raised his eyebrows as he shut and locked the door. "Punch a bunch? Did you have some green eggs and ham too, Dr. Seuss?"

Kevin shook his head in disgust, then focused on Sam. "Whoa, what happened to him?"

"Long story," Dean said shortly. "Help me get him to the bathroom?"

"I'll try," Kevin said dubiously. "Translating a tablet for months doesn't exactly build upper body strength."

"Awesome. Just…get on his other side and steady him so I can get him down these stairs. I'll take most of his weight."

Together, they managed to stagger down the steps, Kevin gasping like a little bitch about it the entire time.

"All right, Sammy," Dean said, when they finally got him into the bathroom. He took out his med kit and pulled the dirty bandanna off Sam's hand. He glanced up at Kevin. "I'll take it from here."

"Are you su—"

"Yes!" Dean said loudly. He started to clean the wound, then paused. "Thanks," he added contritely, opening his sewing kit once the cut was cleaned. "Look, Kevin, does the demon tablet say anything about how to quit doing the trials?" He threaded the needle, and pulled it through Sam's skin. He barely even winced.

"I—I'm not sure; I didn't get that far. I stopped translating after I got to the third trial. Why?" Kevin asked suspiciously.

Dean hesitated. "Kevin," he said carefully, "It would have killed Sam to complete the trials. I had to make him stop."

Kevin froze, staring at Dean with complete disbelief. "So…you're telling me that I spent six months translating that tablet…for nothing?"

"Not for nothing!" Dean said hastily, concentrating on sewing up Sam's hand, not quite able to look the prophet in the eye. "We learned how to cure demons, rescue souls from Hell, and even how to gank hellhounds! That's all good."

Kevin wasn't having any of it. "My mom is dead!" he snarled. "I've lost everything, and for what? So you can chicken out at the last minute?"

"I can't lose Sam," Dean said quietly, finishing the stitches.

"Why the hell not? Are you telling me that he's more important to you than keeping demons from killing us all?"

Dean finally looked up at Kevin's face, red with fury. Guilt twisting his insides, he gave the truth. "He's more important to me than anything."

Kevin threw up his hands. "Great. That's just great. So demons will continue to roam the earth, and people will keep going to Hell, all so you can continue your creepy, obsessive relationship with your brother. Fantastic."

"Kevin—"

"You know what, you can figure out how to save your brother on your own. I'm done with this shit." He walked out.

"Kevin! Dammit," Dean hissed, and cautiously leaned his brother against the bathroom wall. "I'll be right back, Sammy," he promised, and ran after him.

"Look, however you feel about me, and Sam, you can't go out there!" Dean said hurriedly.

"I'm not planning on it!" Kevin swiveled around and glowered at Dean. "I'm not going to put myself at the mercy of a bunch of angels just because you're a damned coward."

"Excuse me?" Dean said, voice going cold.

"You heard me! You're a coward. You're so afraid of being alone that you can't see the big picture here. We could have ended it all. But you couldn't be bothered! You just think the whole world should cater to you two."

"Sam saved the world once already!" Dean yelled, finally losing his temper. "He went to Hell for 180 years to save the world from Satan. So excuse me if I'm not willing to lose him again."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean panted for a second, glaring at Kevin. "Okay, you know what?" He grabbed his computer, and opened up the webpage to Chuck's first Supernatural novel. He thrust it into Kevin's hands. "Read," he said curtly. "You're smart. I figure it'll take you what? Two, three days tops? Read the whole damn series, I'll tell you what happens after, and then you can tell me how selfish we are."

Without waiting for a response, Dean turned around and went back to Sam.

"I'm guessing he's not going to help us," Sam said wryly. Dean rolled up his sleeves and turned on the water in the tub.

"I'm working on him," Dean replied gruffly, unbuttoning Sam's shirt. "Come on, let's get you out of these clothes."

He felt a lump rise in his throat as Sam shrugged out of his button up and raised his arms above his head for Dean to pull his undershirt off. His ribs stuck out starkly through too-pale skin, and bruises dotted and wrapped around his body like some sort of fucked up cheetah tiger hybrid. Sam might be ginormous, but he was still Dean's little brother, still Dean's to look after, so even though they'd both been way more screwed up than a few bruises, and despite the fact that on a few occasions Dean had even been responsible for some of them, he would never be able to see Sam hurt and brush past it. Dean lightly ran his fingers across one of the marks, and Sam shivered.

"Crowley do this?"

Sam shook his head. "Abaddon. She found us, tried to kill Crowley. Threw me out a window," he snorted.

Dean's fists began to ball, so he checked the temperature of the bath water to hide it. He spent more time than Sam or anyone else realized trying to control his reactions to anyone harming his brother.

A slightly devious idea formed in his mind as he watched the water. With a small smirk, he poured some liquid soap underneath the running faucet.

"Seriously, dude?" Sam said with tired exasperation. "I'm thirty, not three."

"Hey, you still need me to bathe you, I'm doing it my way. Now get in your bubble bath."

Sam huffed, trying and failing to suppress a smile, and allowed Dean to gradually settle him into the tub.

Dean gingerly washed Sam's obnoxiously long hair, wary of any head trauma.

"I'm not some china doll, Dean, I'm not gonna break," Sam griped.

"My tub, my rules," Dean said, lightly tapping him on the cheek.

"It's our tub," Sam grumbled.

"Whatever."

Sam threw bubbles at him in response.

"Hey!"

"My bubbles, my rules," Sam said smugly.

Dean laughed, and made a crown on Sam's head. They gave up all pretense of bathing and had a bubble battle until they all popped. By the end, Dean was grinning wider than he had in a long time.

"Think you can handle the rest?" he asked with raised eyebrows. Sam scoffed and grabbed a washcloth from the low hanging rack. Dean stood up and searched for a towel and robe.

"All squeaky clean?" he asked, returning to the tub. Sam nodded and stepped out. Dean wrapped the robe around him, standing on tippy toes to towel Sam's hair.

"You're lucky I'm a nice big brother, or I'd be chopping all this off right about now," Dean grinned, ruffling Sam's hair. Sam gave Dean his best attempt at a bitch face. "All right, Sasquatch, time for bed." Dean hauled Sam's heavy ass to his room and all but dropped him on the mattress. "Get some sleep," Dean said, pulling the covers over Sam. Sam slurred something that sounded like agreement, and seemed to fall instantly asleep. Dean ran a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted himself. He started to leave, but stopped before exiting. He hadn't wanted to admit this to Sam, but even though their rooms were right next to each other, Dean felt uncomfortable not being able to hear Sam breathe, and know he was all right.

It took effort, but he tore himself away, and went to his bed. He left both doors open.

**Chapter 2**

"Your dad sucks."

"Excuse me?" Dean said, grogginess fading quickly at this comment. He was hunched in a chair at their dining room table.

"Your dad. He's an abusive asshat," Kevin said flatly.

"He did the best he could." Dean was beginning to regret giving Kevin those books.

"Whatever."

Kevin fled the kitchen, and Dean ran a weary hand down his face.

"Morning, bitch," Charlie said cheerfully, bouncing into the kitchen.

"Charlie…gently," Dean mumbled.

Charlie had arrived five hours after helping Sam and Dean get into the bunker, dozens of grocery bags in tow, and Dean had woken up long enough to give her her own room before collapsing back in bed, but once there, found himself unable to fall asleep again. He tossed and turned, stressing about Sam, angels, and where the hell Cas was, before finally giving up around nine A.M.

Charlie went to the kitchen island, poured herself some orange juice, and gave him a considering look. "You know, you're lucky I even got these. Everyone's going crazy out there. They think it's the end of the world."

"It might be." Dean stood up and stretched. "But we won't know anything until Cas gets his ass over here."

At that moment, his phone rang. "Cas, where are you?" he barked, shooting up.

"I think I'm in Grand Junction, Colorado," Castiel said, sounding fatigued.

"You think?"

"Yes. Dean, Metatron took my grace."

"He _what_?"

"That was the final ingredient to the spell. Steal an angel's grace."

"So what, you're—you're human now?" Dean said in horror.

"It would appear so."

Dean fell right back into his chair. "Crap. Okay, one problem at a time. Do you have any money?"

"No."

"Okay, just stay where you are. I'm coming to get you. Shouldn't take me longer than about ten hours. Text me the address you're at."

"Dean. I'm hungry," Castiel said plaintively. Dean closed his eyes.

"It's okay, buddy. I'll bring you some grub. Just sit tight." He ended the call before Castiel could complain more.

"So…road trip?"

Dean glanced at Charlie. "_You_ are staying here, your highness, and looking after Sam and our vengeful prophet. Call me when Sam wakes up."

"Fine," Charlie said grumpily.

"And Charlie, would you mind talking Kevin down a bit?"

"Talking him down from what?" she asked warily.

"I sort of…stopped Sam from completing the trials."

"What? Why?"

"Because it would have killed him," Dean said quietly.

"Oh," she said understandingly. "And you can't bear to live without him."

"Exactly!" Dean said, relieved that she got it.

"But why is Kevin upset?"

Dean looked down, feeling like a total asshole. "Because he spent six months translating the tablet so we could do the trials, and Crowley killed his mom trying to get the tablet back."

"Seriously? Dean!"

"I know, I know, but Charlie, he's my brother. I couldn't let him die."

"Brother, yeah, whatever," she muttered. "Fine, I'll try to talk to him. But you better bring back beer."

"Done."

Dean stopped by Sam's room before he left. Sam was passed out, mouth slightly open, drooling a little. Dean smiled affectionately, absently brushing Sam's hair from his eyes like he used to when they were kids, before Sam started smacking his hand away, ears red.

The drive was like any other trip he'd taken. Through a war zone. Ambulances raced by, and bright flashes of light shone over hillsides and through forests. Dean didn't even dare to take back roads and alleys like he normally would, because there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be ruthless angels hanging around looking to vent their anger at the sole car crossing their path. The only good thing about this whole mess was that any cop cars Dean would normally be watchful for were way too busy to wonder if the Impala they were passing was the one that belonged to Dean and Sam Winchester.

Grand Junction's McDonald's was open, to Dean's immense relief, and he bought a couple of Big Macs and some McNuggets. Cas's intro to food might as well begin with the worst thing possible. At least, that's what Sam would say. Dean pulled up to the address Cas had texted him, and found him sitting on a bench, looking rather dejected.

"Cas, get in," Dean shouted, rolling down the window. Castiel looked up, and the forlorn expression on his face could give Sam's sad puppy dog eyes a run for their money. Dean rolled his eyes and looked away, grateful that he had years of steeling himself against puppies under his belt. Once Cas was in the Impala he immediately attacked the bag of grease and the Dr. Pepper.

"I don't like this, Dean," Cas said dejectedly.

"Come on, you've been human before," Dean scoffed.

"_No_, I have not been human before. I've been stripped of most of my angelic abilities, but I've never lost my grace. Everything is just…gone. I can't sense heaven, or other angels, or the trees around me. I can't see into the hearts of humans. I couldn't even tell if you were coming. I have nothing," Castiel continued gloomily. "I _am_ nothing. Just a baby in a trench coat, as you once pointed out."

"And, as I once pointed out, you know who whines? Babies." Dean wasn't sure if tough love was the way to go here, but Cas was kind of pissing him off. "Cas, I've been human my entire life. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? You were raised a hunter, you've never had a healthy relationship, you consume alcohol at a rate which surprises even me. You're so ill at peace with yourself that you sold your soul rather than live without your brother, and then you were trapped in Hell for _forty years._ How is that not bad?"

Dean stayed silent, not because he couldn't think of an answer, but because he was positive there was no answer that wouldn't involve fists and yelling.

Castiel sulked in the passenger's seat for the entire ten hour drive. It was worse than a moody Sam. He spent a lot of time staring out the window and asking Dean if this was how fast he could go.

"Cas, you've driven in a car before, so stop being a little bitch about it," Dean said sharply.

By the time they pulled up in front of the bunker, Dean was about ready to smack the scowl straight off of Castiel's face. "Get inside," Dean snapped.

Charlie was poring over Men of Letters documents when they got inside. Kevin was nowhere to be seen. "Sam still asleep?" Dean asked.

"Yep, he's…" Charlie trailed off when Cas emerged behind Dean. "This must be Castiel," she said brightly, standing up. "It's nice to meet you." She stuck out a hand and gave him a winning smile. Trust Cas to convert a lesbian.

"Hello," he said distractedly, shaking her hand. "Dean, I can't feel the prophet. Is he here?"

"Yeah, Cas, he's around." This only seemed to dampen Castiel's spirits even more, if that was possible. He slumped in a chair. Dean exhaled sharply with exasperation, and went to check on Sam.

"You _sold_ your _soul_?"

Dean closed his eyes, wondering how his patience was going to survive two sullen babies, three, depending upon how Sam felt when he woke up.

"Yeah, Kevin, I sold my soul. What about it?"

"That's…that's just insane. Why the hell would you do that?" Kevin asked incredulously.

"Because he's my brother." Dean was getting a little sick of explaining this to everyone.

"Yeah, of course, that's a reasonable explanation."

"Okay, you know what? I don't care what you or anyone else thinks. Sam is my brother, and I wasn't about to let him die. So just…leave me alone."

"I've never met anyone who loves their brother enough to go to Hell just for another year with him."

Dean ran a tired hand down his face. "Awesome." He walked away. Maybe he should have vetted the books before giving them to Kevin.

Sam was asleep, a steady stream of drool soaking the pillow. Dean suppressed a laugh and an urge to take a blackmail pictures.

"All right, Cas," Dean said when he returned to the main room. "The angels. What does it mean? Are they at full power?"

"I don't know, Dean," Cas said crankily. "It's likely that they'll be like I was after I rebelled against Zachariah. In possession of some powers, but not all. At least, the ones who had their vessel with them in Heaven. The others, the ones in their pure form, are probably going to be reborn as humans, like Anna was."

"Well, that's not as bad as I was afraid of," Dean said optimistically. "What about Sam?"

"What _about_ Sam?" Cas continued to sound quite grumpy.

"I stopped him from completing the trials, but he's hurting. Do you have any idea how to reverse the effects?"

"I already told you, Dean, even when I was an angel I couldn't have healed what was being done to him. If there is a way to stop it, it will be on the Demon tablet."

"Great," Dean groused. "Now we just get to wait and see if Kevin's in the mood to help."

"Why wouldn't he be?"

"He's kind of angry that I wouldn't let Sam finish the trials," Dean admitted.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense." Castiel looked around groggily. "I'm tired. I don't like it."

Dean sighed. He was starting to suspect that exasperation was about to be one of his chief emotions for the foreseeable future.

"All right, Cas, there are some extra rooms. Let's go."

After some irritating business about what Castiel was supposed to sleep in, Dean finally got him settled in bed in one of Sam's shirts. It was all extremely strange.

Dean went back to his room for some much needed rest.

"Dean?"

Dean shot straight up in bed, thirty years of answering to that voice jerking him out of the fog of sleep.

"Sammy?" Dean fumbled with the light. Sam was leaning against his door frame, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket. The clock indicated that Dean had only been asleep for three hours. "Are you okay?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Not—not really. How long was I out?"

"Um..." Dean did some math in his head. "About thirty hours?" he guessed.

"Crap." Sam slid down the wall.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean said, getting out of bed and grabbing Sam's shoulders. "Take it easy, man. Let's get some food in you. You hungry?" Sam nodded reluctantly.

"But I just want to go back to bed."

Three babies it was, then.

"You've gotta keep your strength up, Sam. Come on, I'll fix us some grub."

Sam followed him into the kitchen. Charlie must have gone to bed; the lights were dimmed and the rooms were empty. Sam slumped in a chair at the dining room table and stayed quiet while Dean cooked.

Sam poked halfheartedly at the bowl of pasta Dean put in front of him with his fork. "Dean, what are we going to do?"

"Well, right now _you_ are going to eat, and after that you'll go back to bed. We'll worry about the rest later."

"But—"

"Eat. Now," Dean said sternly. Sam despondently shoveled the pasta in his mouth, picking up speed once he had the taste. Dean didn't particularly want to treat Sam like a five year old again, but he didn't know how else to deal with the situation. He just wished that he felt less like the father of three whiny boys right now, and more like a warrior with three comrades and one helpful prophet.

**Chapter 3**

"Do you regret it?"

Dean glanced up from his computer. He'd spent the last two days following the news closely, trying to figure out how powerful the angels were and how much havoc they were wreaking. So far, all over the world, there were a few obliterated forests and buildings, but also several giant trees popped up in the middle of nowhere, confirming Castiel's theory that some angels were likely going to be reborn as humans, and others remained in their vessels. There weren't any reports of miracle healings, however, so either the angels had lost that power, like Cas had after he'd rebelled, or none of them cared about humans enough to do so.

"Regret what?" Dean asked.

Kevin gestured at his computer screen. Dean squinted at the words.

"_It was four months up here, but down there—I don't know, time's different. It was more like forty years."_

_Sam gazed at Dean soulfully, sadness and regret etched into his face. "My God," he said breathlessly._

"_They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you…." Dean swallowed, tears lighting his eyes—_

Dean jerked his eyes away from the horrible writing and even worse memories. "It wasn't that melodramatic," he said gruffly.

"But do you?"

Dean looked at his hands, hands that were missing scars and twisted fingers he'd had before he died. He thought about the torture, and the Devil, and Ruby, and everything that had happened since he'd sold his soul to bring Sam to life. Then he looked at Sam, who was conked out on one of the chairs next to the bookcases. He'd refused to spend all his time in his bed, so he came out here, ostensibly to help, but mostly to snore. His too-long hair was sprawled over his face, and he was curled into a little ball. Dean's heart wrenched. "No," he said truthfully. "I don't."

Kevin looked from him to Sam, a slight crease between his brows. "Uh…okay." He walked away.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. Multiple times during the day Kevin would come and interrogate him about his _thoughts_ and _feelings_ about something he'd just read, and it was long past irritating and moving towards infuriating. The only reason Dean was tolerating it at all was in the hopes that Kevin would get over his little bitch fit and help them.

"Dean, I'm hungry."

"There's a fully stocked kitchen, Cas. Go wild."

Dean hadn't looked up from his computer, but he could feel Cas's glare. "Dean, you know I have no idea how to prepare food."

Castiel was not adapting well to being fully human. He'd always been more emotional than most angels, but he'd never had to deal with hormones and hunger and all the various joys that came with being a human being, and he was slammed with them all at once. It was a lot like dealing with a teenaged Sam had been. Except he'd never had to explained to Sam how to use a toilet, because that was one of the few things Dad had taken care of. He wished he could banish the image of Castiel twitching in front of him and asking what the uncomfortable feeling below his waist was (and Dean was grateful that he didn't yet have to deal with Cas trying to figure out what that other feeling below his waist was.)

"No time like the present," Dean replied dispassionately.

"Dean," Castiel griped.

Dean rolled his eyes and shut his laptop. "All right, Dudley, let's get you fed."

Dean threw together a couple of hamburgers while Cas sat at the table, watching the bubbles in his coke pop.

"Dean, may I ask you something?"

Dean glanced up from the dishes. Castiel was examining the burger Dean had put in front of him with a sort of detached, clinical interest.

"Uh, sure Cas. What?" Dean was vaguely offended that Castiel didn't seem to have any appreciation for his cooking.

"You and Sam. Why do you keep pursuing relationships with women?"

"What? The hell did that come from?" Dean demanded.

"I see you both try and fail to live apart from each other, and be with women. Neither of you are ever happy. Why do you keep trying?"

"Cas, what does this have to do with anything?" Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged. "The Prophet asked me about certain parts of the Winchester Gospel, and it gave me cause for reflection. So tell me. Why?"

"Um…because we'd like to not be alone for the rest of our lives?"

"You're not alone. You have each other."

"It's not the same, Cas." Dean could feel himself start to get frustrated. This was a touchy subject for him. "Sam and I can't give each other everything. We can't have sex, for instance."

"Why not? You two share a more profound bond with each other than you ever could with anyone else. What makes that any different?"

Dean fully turned from the sink to stare at Castiel in astonishment. He was busy dissecting his burger like it was an alien life form, and seemed completely indifferent to the fact that he'd just asked Dean why he wasn't having gay, incestuous sex with Sam. He took a deep breath, and tried not to yell.

"One, because he's my brother. Two, _we're not gay_."

"I can change that," Castiel said mildly.

"Change what?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Your sexual orientation."

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten. "Cas," he gritted out, "You're missing the point. And what do you mean you can change it? I thought you lost your angel mojo when Metatron booted you out of Heaven."

Castiel actually looked up from his burger at this. "Yes, I did lose my 'mojo'," he replied testily, "But I do have thousands of years of knowledge at my disposal. I know a spell."

"No, see, that doesn't work for me, because that would make you a witch, and that's just…not okay."

Cas shrugged, and finally picked up his burger and bit into it. He gave a surprised exclamation. "This is truly delightful, Dean. Thank you."

His belated enjoyment did nothing for Dean's temper.

"People write stories about you and Sam…together?!"

"I swear to God, the next person who talks about me and Sam having sex will get punched in the face."

Kevin slinked away.

"You are such an ass. I can't believe you threw away the amulet Sam gave you!"

Dean's patience finally ran out. He grabbed Kevin's arm and dragged him over to Charlie, who was busy poring over various Men of Letters files.

"Kevin. Meet Charlie. Charlie has read all of the Supernatural books. Talk to her about them."

Dean stomped to his room and slammed the door, hoping Kevin would now stop reminding him of things he never wanted to be reminded of. He flopped on his bed wearily.

Thing was, even when he'd thrown the amulet away, Dean hadn't really wanted rid of it. A small part of him (okay, maybe not so small) wanted Sam to pick it up and beg Dean to take it back. He wanted Sam to say that the memories were only getting started, and that they'd simply switched to Ash's Heaven before getting to the ones of him and Dean. He wanted Sam to say that Dean mattered to him as much as Sam mattered to Dean.

But Sam hadn't done any of those things. Sam had simply followed Dean out the door, eyes downcast. They hadn't said a word for three days. Then demons attacked, and the Sacrament Lutheran Militia saved them, so they had to deal with the Whore of Babylon, and by that point, Dean was so damn tired that the idea of continuing to resist the angels and the Devil while knowing that the person he loved most didn't care about him enough to want to remember him in Heaven that saying "Yes" sounded like the only thing worth doing.

Dean brought his hand up to the spot on his chest where his amulet used to hang, solid and strong. For the first time in a long time, Dean felt a desperate, aching desire to wrap his hand around the heavy piece of brass, finger the horns that had taken more than a few chips of his teeth. He'd almost never taken it off, just occasionally for sex, so the woman wouldn't have a lump of metal banging into her face. Other than that, he'd hung on to it tightly, especially after Sam had gone to Stanford. It always felt like the one piece of evidence that Sam had, at one point, loved and trusted him. And Dean had thrown it away, in the vain hope that Sam would give it back to him, show that that love and trust was still there. But he hadn't.

"Dean?" Sam's voice came through the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Dean sat up, and Sam stumbled his way in, sitting heavily at the foot of Dean's bed.

"Dean—" He stopped, frowning. "Are you okay?"

Dean belatedly realized that a couple of tears had escaped. He quickly swiped them away. "Yeah, yeah, just had something in my eye. What's up?"

Sam persisted in examining Dean like he wanted to push the issue. Their eyes met, and Dean silently begged Sam to drop it. He did.

"I was just wondering if you'd angel-proofed the bunker."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I did that like, two weeks ago."

Sam stared at him in astonishment. "It's been two weeks?"

Dean ignored the question in favor of pressing the back of his hand against Sam's forehead. It was still cold and clammy. "Sam, how you feeling?"

"Like crap, Dean," Sam said impatiently. "What did you do about Crowley?"

"What do you mean what did I do? I left him there."

"You just left him?" Sam yelped. "You didn't try to finish curing him?"

"No," Dean snapped. "Why the hell would I do that? Angels were coming down in droves, you were all screwed up, and we were six hours away from the only safe place in the world. Curing the King of Hell wasn't exactly at the top of my to-do list."

"Maybe because he could be useful, Dean," Sam said in that supremely irritating, 'You're a moron, Dean', voice that he liked to employ on occasion. "We don't know what he knows. He could tell us so much about demons, Hell, angels, everything! We need to go get him, right now." Sam staggered out of Dean's room.

"Whoa. Sam. Sam!" Dean followed him, doing his best not to touch Sam and elicit his 'I can take care of myself' wrath. "Come on, we don't even know if he's there anymore. That's a really fucking long drive through angel-infested lands on a _chance_ that he might have useful information."

Sam stopped walking and just looked at him.

"What?" Dean asked, frustrated.

"I just—you didn't see him, Dean. He was really starting to become human again. And we just left him tied up and alone." Sam's voice broke a little, and Dean couldn't freaking believe Sam was using his puppy-dog eyes on him about _Crowley_, of all things. Dean threw up his hands.

"Fine! I'll go look for him."

"I'm coming with you," Sam said immediately.

"No. You, my brother, are staying right here."

"Dean, I can help," Sam said plaintively.

Dean extended his right forefinger and poked Sam's shoulder. Sam staggered and clutched the wall for balance. "_No_, you can't."

"You can't go alone," Sam protested, face a little flushed, though whether from embarrassment or exertion or both Dean wasn't sure.

"He won't go alone."

Sam and Dean looked down the hallway. Castiel was standing there looking, for the first time, a bit like his old self. At the very least he wasn't staring at the wall, silent and brooding.

"You sure about that, Cas?" Dean asked skeptically. Castiel gave him a withering glance.

"I may no longer be an angel, but I will not be, as you put it, a baby in a trench coat," Castiel said decisively. "Teach me how to be a human hunter."

Dean sagged with relief. Maybe he could actually get back Cas the Warrior, instead of Cas the Infant.

"Okay, then. Let's go."

Sam followed them into the main room. "Dean," he said softly. "Be careful." Their gazes met, and all of their ridiculous melodramatic feelings towards each other which Dean liked to pretend didn't exist built up in his throat in words he would never say. Dean nodded curtly. "Back soon."

"Dean! Wait a second." Kevin came sliding into the room, clutching his laptop, Charlie hot on his heels.

"What now, Kevin?" Dean asked tetchily.

"I forgot before—here, read." Kevin thrust the computer into Dean's hands.

"Kevin, I really don't have time for this—"

"Please," Charlie piped up imploringly. "You'll be glad you did."

Dean sincerely doubted that, but he looked at the screen anyway, Sam reading over his shoulder.

_Sam's soulful eyes gazed at the weathered sign which said "St. Mary's Convent, 2 Miles." His heart strained in his chest as memories of Dean drifted through his mind like fluttering paper. _

"_Sam, it's time. Are we doing this or not?" Ruby said impatiently, as if bleeding a woman dry was such a simple thing. Sam's mind flashed to the voicemail weighing heavily within his jacket pocket. _

"_Give me a minute to think," Sam murmured mellifluously, gazing at the sign._

"_Sam—" Ruby said impatiently._

Dear god this writing was atrocious.

"_Give me damn minute, Ruby!" Sam yelled._

"_Better think fast," she said with irritation._

_Sam gazed at the sign sadly, then delicately pulled out his phone, then dialed his voicemail, then listened to the message. Dean's voice, harsh and grating like sand against dirt, came through the speaker. "Listen to me, you blood-sucking freak. Dad always said I'd have to save you, or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam. A vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back." Sam shut his eyes against the words, beating through him like rocks, and everything he'd ever feared Dean would feel about him was suddenly true. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered without Dean. He twirled back to Ruby. _

"_Do it," he said hopelessly._

"_Thank god," she said._

Dean reread the passage three times. This…didn't make any sense. He'd never said any of that, never even thought any of that. Sam…Sam had spent the last four years thinking that there was a time Dean was ready to kill him. Now far too many of Sam's actions made too much painful sense. "Sammy," he said frantically, looking around at his brother. Sam's eyes were downcast.

"Dean. Can we—can we not talk about that?"

"No," Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders. This needed to be fixed right fucking now. "Sam, look at me." Sam reluctantly met his eyes. "Sam, I never, _never_, said those things. I left you a voicemail, sure. But all I said was that we were still brothers. And that that would never change. Zachariah, he told me he'd have to nudge you in the right direction. He must have—Cas, it was him, right?" Dean turned desperately to Castiel, who couldn't seem to look at him.

"Yes. It was important that Sam think you had abandoned him, or he might not have done what was necessary to kill Lilith."

Dean looked back at Sam. "Sammy," he said brokenly. "None of it was real. I've never felt that way. Never."

Sam gazed at him hopefully. "It wasn't?"

Dean yanked him into a hug so tight he might well be suffocating Sam, but screw it, that didn't matter. "No. You're my little brother. I've always—always." There were things they couldn't say to each other, hadn't been able to say for a long time, and he wasn't going to try now. But Sam needed to know. He had to. People—Bobby, Cas, Charlie, Kevin—they were all so quick to try to simplify the relationship he and Sam had with each other, and it was just never going to be. This, however. This could be simple.

Sam clenched the back of Dean's jacket, and Dean could feel tears on his neck. "Okay. Okay."

Dean suddenly became conscious of their audience, and hastily, albeit a tad unwillingly, pulled away. He clapped Sam on the shoulders, in a belated attempt to make this absurd chick-flick moment appear a bit more manly.

"So, uh, we'll be back soon."

Sam was staring at him with an expression that could only be described as worshipful, the same way he'd used to look at Dean when they were kids. Dean's guts twisted tightly, and he all but fled the awkwardness.

Castiel smiled at him tenderly as they got into the Impala. Dean determinedly ignored it. For once, Cas seemed to grasp social cues, and left it alone.

**Chapter 4**

A few hours into the drive, something occurred to Dean. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Jimmy. Is he still floating around somewhere in your gourd?"

Castiel smiled, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "Yes, he's with me. Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering what happens to the vic after we cure the demon. Do they stay trapped in their body? Do they go upstairs?"

Castiel frowned slightly. "I don't know, Dean. Until a few weeks ago, I didn't even know it was possible to cure a demon. It does present a moral qualm, though."

"No shit," Dean muttered.

"Is it more important to cure the demon or save the human?" Cas prattled on, as if Dean was a fucking moron. "Of course, you and Sam answer a similar question every time you kill a demon."

"Yeah, I guess." Dean felt his gut squirm in uncomfortable guilt. Killing human hosts wasn't something he spent a lot of time contemplating anymore, though Dean was fairly certain that the him of eight years ago would not be thrilled about that. The car fell silent. Cas kept stealing looks at Dean, for some reason Dean really didn't want to know.

The sun was just starting to set when they pulled up in front of the church. "All right," Dean said, pulling out his gun and checking the clip. "Let's do this."

"Dean." Cas stopped him. "I…I will need a weapon."

"You don't have your angel blade?"

"No. Metatron took it from me when I was in Heaven."

"Well, lucky for you, I've got a few spares in the trunk," Dean said, getting out of the car.

Castiel looked forlornly at the angel blade Dean tossed him a few moments later.

"Hey!" Dean snapped his fingers at Cas. "Come on, now, I need you sharp. You can contemplate your humanity later. Right now we need to get Crowley."

Cas shook his head a little. "Of course. Lead the way."

Dean tried to walk silently as they approached the church, but the door squeaked when he opened it. He squinted in the dim light. The chair was there. Crowley was gone. Dean swore.

"Sam will be unhappy," Cas noted.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean growled.

"I know. It's disappointing."

Dean spun around at the voice, gun raised on instinct before his brain caught up. His eyes widened.

"_Meg_?" Dean said in astonishment. "But—you're dead. We saw Crowley gank you!"

"Please," Meg snorted. Her hair was back to its normal color, and she seemed fairly well-groomed. "Crowley may be head bitch now, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. It's not that easy to kill a demon as old as I am."

"I don't get it. He stabbed you with the angel killing sword."

"Not in the right place," she replied smugly. "For most demons, their essence has to fill the entirety of their vessel. But some of us, if we've been around long enough, and are prepared to, can briefly push our entire selves into one part of our meat suit. Crowley was basically stabbing my feet. So yeah, not so much with the death. He just walked away from my host. Dumbass." Her gaze slipped from Dean to Castiel. "Well, well, well. Look at you, Clarence. You've lost your wings." A faint frown line appeared. "Literally."

Castiel flushed. "I'm still an angel, Meg."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"Okay, okay, you two can have your little pissing contest later," Dean said, stepping between them. "Meg, where's Crowley?"

"Don't you think if I knew that I would have him?" she snapped. "I don't know what your boy did to him, but it's chaos in Hell right now. Everyone's trying to take over, and no one seems to know where Crowley is, except that there's something wrong with him."

"How would they know that?" Dean asked.

"Every demon is connected to the King of Hell, at least a little bit. We all felt it when something started to change in him."

"Okay." Dean rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Can we summon him?"

"I _don't know_. You haven't told me what Moose did to him."

"All right, Cas, you stay here with Meg; I'll go get the ingredients out of the trunk."

"Fine! Don't tell me." Meg threw up her hands. Dean paused on his way out the door, looking from the former angel to the current demon, and an idea began to form in his mind.

When he came back into the church, Meg and Castiel were sitting down, talking inaudibly. Dean cleared his throat. "I've got the ingredients for the summoning ritual. Cas, will you draw a Devil's Trap?"

"Of course."

Dean tossed him a spray paint bottle, which Castiel dropped. Dean suppressed a snicker, and Cas glared. Dean glanced at Meg, who was examining her fingernails with a bored indifference.

"Hey, Meg," Dean called casually. "Will you help me mix some of these herbs?"

Meg raised her eyebrows. "Sure."

When she reached for the bowl, Dean clipped the extra cuffs on her. "Seriously?" she groaned. "I'm on your side now!"

"_No,_ you're on your side," Dean corrected. "But you will be on our side in about eight hours."

Castiel's head jerked up at that. "Dean?"

"Finish that Devil's Trap!"

Castiel returned to his work, anxiety coloring his features.

It was only when the Devil's Trap was completed and Meg was strapped to a chair that Castiel spoke again. "Dean, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"_What_ is a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Dean said, ignoring Meg.

"It's just…she _is_ our ally," Castiel said hesitantly, "And I no longer have any abilities. Everyone with us is human now. It may be better to leave her as a demon."

"Hold on, what do you mean _leave_ me as a demon?"

"She's a demon, Cas, and she's not on our side, she's just choosing to work with us until we stop being useful. We're turning her, and that's final."

Cas threw up his hands. Dean finally turned to Meg.

"All right, Mother Teresa. We're making you into a real girl."

Meg frowned. "Those two things aren't even—"

"Human!" Dean said loudly. "We're making you human."

For the first time ever, Dean saw fear in her eyes. "What? How? That's not—what?"

"Cas, give her the lowdown. I've got to go do my forgive me fathers."

"Should I go get us take out?" Cas said dryly.

Dean grinned. "If being human is giving you a sense of humor, maybe it's worth it after all." He closed the door on Castiel's scowl.

Dean looked around at the decrepit confessional area, and went into one of the booths. "All right. I'm pretty sure you don't give a crap, but if it works, screw it. Forgive me father, for I have sinned." He paused. "A lot."

Half an hour later, Dean emerged from confession, feeling oddly drained. Cas cocked his head and looked at him inquisitively.

"Are you okay?" he asked kindly.

Dean shook his head rapidly, trying to clear it. "I'm awesome. Give me the syringe, before I start sinning again."

Curing a demon in person was a lot different from listening to it on tape. Meg squirmed and cursed for the first four doses. On the fifth, she started to beg. On the sixth, she started to weep. Dean couldn't help but wonder how Crowley had been. After he administered the eighth dose, he knelt in front of her. Her black eyes darted about like a terrified animal. Cas watched the entire process in silence.

"_Exorcizamus te_," he began, slicing his palm. "_Omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animan redintegra_," he clapped his hand over her face, "_Lustratus. Lustratus!"_

Brilliant white light emanated from her eyes. They shone out, and the black faded. Dean unscrewed a bottle of holy water while she gazed around in a daze. He splashed some on her. It slid down her face, and she blinked, but didn't burn. Dean glanced over at Castiel, who had his hand over his mouth, eyes wide and filled with tears. Dean looked back to Meg.

"Dean?" she whispered.

"How are you feeling?" he asked warily.

"I don't know." Tears slid down her face. "I have no idea. Everything…thousands of years. I can't even…." She stared into space. Dean jerked his head at Cas, who followed him into the next room.

"Well, she'll need about ten million hours of therapy, but I'm pretty sure she's human now. I know you don't have any angel juice left, but is there any way you can figure out if she is or not?"

Castiel looked back at her. "Dean, I can't see anything now. I'm simply human. But if I had to guess, then yes. I believe she is human again."

"Okay." Dean sighed. "Let's untie her and see if she can walk out of that Devil's Trap. If she can, we'll just go with yes." Castiel nodded.

"All right, so we're going to unchain you. You walk out of this Devil's Trap, and we'll call it even. Got it?"

Meg nodded, looking like she was about to pass out. Dean uncuffed her and stepped back. She got up slowly, legs shaking slightly. Trembling step by trembling step, she managed to walk her way out of the trap. Castiel caught her as soon as she did.

"Cas, take her out to the car while I summon Crowley."

Castiel looked up swiftly. "Dean, is that the wisest idea? Are you sure you're strong enough to—"

"I promised Sammy that I would bring him Crowley, didn't I?" Dean said forcefully. "I'm going to do it, if I can."

"Dean—"

"Shut it, Cas."

Castiel's lips thinned, but he stayed silent, and turned to Meg.

Dean's mind turned to Sam as he was putting together the spell. That voicemail…how much of Sam's actions had been influenced by that? The impression the book gave, in its clumsy way, implied that if Sam had heard what Dean actually said, he wouldn't have gone through with killing Lilith, and the whole thing could have been avoided. Or at least delayed. Not just Lilith either. What else had Sam decided to do because he thought Dean was once willing to kill him?

Dean murmured the incantation, and finished the spell. Crowley didn't appear.

"Shit."

"What happened?" Cas asked, when Dean banged out of the church with his bag a few minutes later.

"Nothing," Dean replied crankily. "How's Meg?"

Castiel glanced back at the Impala, his brow creasing. "I don't know. She isn't responding to me anymore. What are we going to do with her?"

Dean rubbed his forehead, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know. I don't really want to take her with us, but I don't know what else to do with her."

"Dean, she isn't a demon anymore. I don't believe she is a threat."

"Right, because humans are always cuddly bunnies who never do crappy things," Dean shot back. "But I don't have any better ideas. We'll take her, but she goes on lockdown. We blindfold her on the way there and keep her in one room."

"For how long?"

Dean looked from Cas's too-blue eyes to the former demon in the back seat. "As long as we need to. Let's roll."

**Chapter 5**

Sam was not happy.

"Dean, why the hell did you bring her here?"

Despite the reason, Dean was somewhat relieved to see Sam express an emotion other than exhaustion and weepiness. He wasn't sure how many more earnest gazes he could take from his little brother.

"What the fuck else was I supposed to do with her?"

"Uh, _not bring her back to our secret lair_?"

Dean bit his lip to keep from smiling. Only Sam could use the term "secret lair" in a serious fashion. Unfortunately Sam caught the suppressed grin.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't realize that harboring the demon who screwed with our lives for half a decade was a source of amusement for you." Sam was breathing hard and clutching the back of a chair, but he seemed determined to keep yelling at Dean. Even Charlie had run off at that point.

"Come on, she's not even a demon anymore," Dean pointed out.

"So? How do you know that she won't escape and tell every damn demon where we are?"

"Look, Sam, I understand why you don't trust her—"

"Do you, Dean? Really? Did she ride around in your meatsuit for two weeks? Did she make _you_ kill someone with your bare hands?"

"I was there, Sam!" The humorous aspect of the conversation dead, Dean was starting to get a little pissed off. "She tried to get me to kill you, and beat the crap out of me when I wouldn't!"

Sam had the grace to look a little ashamed. "I know. But I don't trust her."

"And you think I do? I'm not an idiot, dude. I kept her blindfolded the whole time, and Cas is watching her right now. She passed out a while back. So the only thing we can do right now is wait for her to wake up. Now, when was the last time you ate?"

"Don't change the subject, Dean," Sam said in annoyance.

"Fine! What else can you say that will make this situation any better?"

Sam opened his mouth for a few moments, then frowned. "I—"

"That's what I thought. Let's get some grub in you."

Sam sulked the whole time, but he did shut up and eat his food, so Dean counted it as a victory.

Three days later, Kevin agreed to complete his translation of the Demon tablet. He finished the books, and Dean told him everything that happened after.

"You guys did go through a lot," Kevin allowed grudgingly. "And you saved the world a couple times. I'll help."

Dean was so grateful he wrapped the littlest prophet in a hug before Kevin could get away.

Meg had spent the time curled up in her room, not eating, and barely drinking. Cas was the only one who seemed to be able to get her to talk, but he refused to tell Dean what she was saying, just that it had nothing to do with them.

Sam remained a little pissy, but as he appeared to be taking a turn for the worse, Dean didn't really give a shit.

"No. Back to bed."

"Dean, if I spend any more time in that thing, I'm going to get sores, and then go crazy. Let me help."

Dean spread his arms. "Help with what? Charlie's keeping an eye on the news, Cas is watching Meg, and there's nothing we can do for Kevin. Just…try to relax."

Sam flopped down in a chair, crossing his arms. He hadn't been this petulant since he was 15. Dean had to wonder if the trials were helping him recall his teenage emotions as well as childhood memories.

"What am I supposed to do, Dean? I feel like shit, and I just wish I could _do_ something about it."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, please, the best thing you can do right now is eat and sleep. If it makes you feel better to sleep out here, then sleep out here."

"I don't need you to baby me," Sam said crossly.

"Then quit acting like one," Dean retorted. Sam glowered and went back to his room. Dean shook his head.

"Kevin, the next words out of your mouth had better be 'Just kidding.'

"You wanted to know how to cure Sam. This is what the tablet says will do it."

"Yeah, but the Fountain of Youth? Come on, that's just a myth invented by wanna-be-Voldemorts. It's not real!"

"Actually it is."

Dean glanced up at Castiel, who had just walked into main room. He was carrying a bowl of chocolate ice cream with what looked like gummy bears, marshmallows, M&Ms, whipped cream, and other things Dean couldn't identify. He curled up in a chair next to Charlie and began devouring.

"You wanna elaborate, Blue Bell?"

"The Fountain of Youth. It _does_ exist," Castiel stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I gathered that," Dean said, aggravated. "Can you tell me anything useful about it? Where it is, for instance?"

Cas shook his head. "It wasn't something I needed to know, so no one told me. I only know that it's real."

"Perfect. That's just…Kevin, does the tablet say anything else about it?"

"As far as I can tell, no. It's barely even mentioned at all, just one sentence: 'To stop the trials, one must drink from the Fountain of Youth.' That's the last thing the tablet says."

Dean ran a weary hand down his face. "Are you sure you don't know anything about it, Cas?"

Castiel looked up from his bowl, brow wrinkled in apology. "I'm sorry, Dean; I don't."

"Dean?"

Dean jerked up at the sound of Sam's voice. He was leaning against the doorway, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked even worse than before, all the color gone from his skin, his face gaunt and drained.

"Sammy, I told you to stay in bed."

"Dean, I'm not getting better, and sleep isn't going to do a damn thing. I might as well be here, helping, now that there's something to help with." Sam staggered towards them, and Dean shot across the room, trying to assist. Sam batted him off. "I can walk, Dean."

"Whatever, Pinocchio," Dean muttered.

Sam dropped heavily into one of chairs. "Now, you're talking about the Fountain of Youth?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah."

"Well, various historians attribute the search for the Fountain of Youth to Juan Ponce de Leon, a conquistador from the late 15th and early 16th centuries. But that's a romanticized version of the story—mostly he just wanted to discover and conquer new lands, like every other conquistador. It was actually Alexander the Great who was rumored to have found it."

Dean stared at him. "Thank you, Wikipedia. How do you know all that?"

Sam shrugged. "Back at Stanford, I took Ancient European mythology. One of the things we studied was the Fountain of Youth, and Alexander's quest to find it."

Dean ignored the slight wrench in his stomach that lingered every time Sam mentioned Stanford, even after all these years, and sat on the table next to him. "Okay, college boy. Tell me everything."

Sam grinned.

"All right," he said a few minutes later, when they were all gathered around their map table thing. Dean still wasn't quite sure what it was called. "So the legend goes that Alexander had to travel through the Land of Darkness to reach the Fountain of Youth, and he took his servant, Khwaja Khadir, also known as Khizr, with him, but they got separated, and Khizr found the Fountain. He didn't know what it was at first, and drank from it, but a dead fish he'd brought with him to eat came to life when some of the water splashed on it. Now, the Land of Darkness is supposed to be somewhere here, in Abkhazia."

Dean looked at the spot on the map where Sam was pointing.

"Awesome. It's a good thing that Georgia is so peaceful right now."

"Actually, Abkhazia considers itself its own country—"

"Not the point, Sam! How do we find this Fountain—thing in a war-torn country?"

"Um…that's going to be a problem as well."

"What?"

Sam looked apologetic. "Alexander never actually found the Fountain of Youth. Only Khizr did. Apparently he was only able to find it because he wasn't looking for it."

"Well that's just fan-friggin-tastic," Dean bit out. "How are we supposed to find the damn thing if we're not allowed to be looking for it?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Dean."

Dean threw up his hands. "Awesome."

"Perhaps Meg knows something," Castiel suggested tentatively. Dean shot him a death glare, but Sam looked contemplative.

"It's true, Dean. We don't know how old she is."

"Sam, weren't you the one telling me we can't trust her?" Dean said incredulously.

"Well, I'm not seeing a lot of options here. Either we ask her, and maybe find the thing, or we don't ask her, and we stumble around a third world country until I die."

"That's not funny," Dean growled.

"I'm not laughing."

Charlie looked back and forth between them. "Okay! I'm going to go talk to Meg while you two play the 'How long can Dean resist Sam's puppy-dog eyes' game." They both looked at her askance, and she leaned in and whispered in Dean's ear conspiratorially, "But you know you never last long."

Dean scowled, but she was already leaving the room. He glanced back at Sam, who shook his head.

"This is what happens when you become a team instead of a duo."

"You look awful," Dean said flatly.

"Is that your professional opinion or is this a free consultation?" Meg sneered. Her voice was a little weak, but retained that slight edge it'd always had.

"Meg, my brother is getting worse every minute, so please tell me you know something."

She took a deep breath and sat up on her bed. "I know a little," she admitted. "I was the second soul turned into a demon by Azazel, who was Lilith's child. That was about fifty thousand years ago."

Dean's eyes widened.

"Fifty…thousand years?" Sam said incredulously.

"And that's just in Earth years," she said with a wry smile. "The point is, I was around when Alexander was doing his "Great" thing. Actually, the demon you made your deal with was the same one ole' Alex made his with."

"Wait, Alexander the Great made a deal?" Dean asked.

"Duh," Meg said impatiently. "You really think someone could conquer half the East without a little demonic assistance?"

"Oh."

"Oh," she mocked.

"Aren't you supposed to be human now?" Sam asked peevishly.

"What, humans can't be sarcastic?" she smirked.

"I just thought you'd go all…Angel."

"Nah, I'm more like Spike."

"Aaaaaand this geekfest is officially over!" Dean said firmly.

"Whatever, Dean, we both know you're a Trekkie," Sam scoffed.

"So Alexander made a deal," Dean said over Sam.

"Yep. That's actually why he was looking for the Fountain. Can't go to Hell if you never die," she shrugged.

"But he couldn't find it," Dean pressed.

"No," she confirmed. "You can't find it if you're looking for it for yourself."

"So how the fuck do we find it?" Dean asked despairingly.

"Sam can't." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "But you might be able to."

Dean perked up. "How?"

"Since you're not technically looking for it for yourself, you might be able to get to it. That's why Khizr could find it, but Alexander couldn't. Khizr never wanted to be immortal. That's why he is."

"So, what, I go find this thing and bring back a flask for Sam?" Dean guessed. Meg shook her head.

"You can't take water from the Fountain. You can only drink from it."

Dean took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, well, what if I drank from it and spat the water into a flask?"

"As soon as you leave the land where the Fountain is, it would just become regular water. It's kept there and only there for a reason."

"So how the fuck do I get it to Sam?!" Dean exploded.

"Dean…what if you cuffed us together, and I just wandered behind you, not looking for anything? You would be trying to find it, and I would just be trying to walk," Sam suggested. Dean looked imploringly at Meg, who seemed thoughtful.

"That might work."

"And as that is the most optimistic thing that has been said about this, let's go with it," Dean said brightly, clapping his hands together. "Charlie, can you fake us up a couple of passports?"

"I can," she said warily. "But you two can't go into an airport looking the way you do."

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

"Um…Leviathans? Mass killing spree? Ringing any bells?"

"Well, we've been posing as FBI agents in a lot of places the last year, and we haven't had any trouble," Sam said, grimacing as he stood up.

"Maybe not, but you really don't want to get caught in an airport with TSA up your ass. You need some disguises. You, for instance, are going to have to lose the hair."

"What?" Sam said in alarm.

"If you have bangs and a beard, people aren't going to recognize you," she pointed out.

"Sam doesn't have time to grow a beard," Dean said, trying to mask his joy at finally getting to chop off ninety percent of Sam's hair.

"There are fake beards. You'll need one too, as well as a long wig," she stated, in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice, as if she hadn't just informed him that he'd need to go around looking like Willie Nelson.

"Sounds great," Dean said faintly, and Sam smiled smugly. Maybe Dean hadn't hidden his glee as well as he'd thought.

"All right, I'll start working on those passports, you two go to a costume shop. On second thought," she added, eyeing them appraisingly, "Do you two know anything about fake beards?"

"Not really," Dean said, glancing at Sam, who nodded. She sighed.

"Okay. I'll go. You two just...stand there and look pretty. Better yet, get online and find the best flight that'll get you closest to Abkhazia."

"Flight?" Dean swallowed. Sam looked at him in amazement.

"Seriously? You've been to Hell and you're still afraid of flying?"

"It's not natural. Giant hunk of metal shouldn't be able to do that," Dean groused, hiding his embarrassment. Charlie shook her head in disdain.

"Sam, you find one."

Sam nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching. Despite himself, Dean felt a little ball of delight roll around in his stomach. Sam was smiling. They had a plan. This could be okay.

Of course he should have known better.

**Chapter 6**

"It's not even."

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam stared into the bathroom mirror, looking for all the world like a sad sheepdog. For his part, Dean wasn't feeling much better. The wig was uncomfortable enough, but the beard was hot and scratchy and almost unbearable. He rubbed at his face miserably.

"One half is too long," Sam said forlornly, turning around. "And I look fourteen again."

"Okay, okay, gimme a second." Dean rummaged around in the cabinet and emerged with a pair of clippers. "Let's see if I can do a better job than Charlie." He sat Sam down on the toilet and skillfully trimmed his bangs. A smile crept across his face.

"What?" Sam asked grumpily.

"Just reminds me of when we were kids. Minus the beard."

"Yeah, because those were such great times," Sam snorted.

Dean's smile faded, and Sam instantly looked regretful. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine," Dean said gruffly. He swiped at Sam's bangs. "All done." He started to turn around, but Sam caught his arm.

"Seriously," he said earnestly. "You…you were the only thing that… I didn't leave because of you."

"I know," Dean lied. He didn't really believe Sam, but getting into an argument at this point wasn't worth it. It had been twelve years. Or fifty two, depending upon how you counted. Time to move on. Sam looked relieved.

"Okay, good." He released his grip on Dean's arm, leaving a trail of heat and fingerprints in his wake. Dean tried to shake it out. Sam frowned.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Dean said quickly. "Come on, let's see how Charlie's coming with those passports."

Sam looked a tad doubtful, but followed him anyway.

"Here you are, Dean Smith," Charlie said a few minutes later. "And Sam Wesson."

They looked at her and the passports she'd handed them skeptically, and she flushed. "I liked the names Zachariah gave you."

"I'm so sick of everyone knowing our life story," Sam hissed at Dean.

"Well, it's too late to change them now," Charlie said tetchily. "So deal. Did you find a flight?"

Sam seemed to shake off his irritation, and sat down at his computer. "Right, there are no flights directly to Abkhazia, but there are flights to Sochi, Russia, which is about 20 miles north of the Russia-Georgia border."

"Look, this is all fine and dandy," Dean interrupted, "But how exactly are we supposed to not only find our way around a country with a language and currency neither of us knows a thing about, make it across a border into _another_ country we know nothing about, and then find a mythical land?"

"Dean, plenty of people in Russia and Abkhazia speak English, there are currency exchange centers in the airport and at the border, and they have cars. They even drive on the right side of the road. Also, Russia considers Abkhazia its own territory, so it's not that difficult to cross the border. We're not going to another planet. We'll be fine." Sam's voice seemed to be going for reassuring, but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"Still doesn't explain how we're going to find this 'Land of Darkness', and seriously, could they have gone for a more ridiculous name?"

Sam got that irritated, resentful look on his face that he always got whenever Dean posed a question he couldn't answer. While normally that expression would make Dean feel triumphant at stumping his know-it-all little brother, right now all he felt was a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He really wanted Sam to have an answer.

"You two are making this way too complicated."

They looked up to find Meg leaning against the far wall. She was eating a green popsicle, an imperious smirk on her face.

"How did you get free?" Dean demanded, hand instantly flying to his gun.

"I let her out," Castiel said, stepping into the room, a pink popsicle in hand. "Dean, she isn't a threat."

"Cas," Dean gritted out, "This is the kind of decision we make _as a group_. You don't just—"

"What do you mean, Meg?" Sam interrupted. A tiny noise of frustration escaped Dean's throat, but he stayed silent.

"I know a spell."

They all looked at her expectantly, but she was now occupied with licking her popsicle at Castiel provocatively.

"Enough with the damn popsicle!" Dean shouted. "Meg! What does the spell do?"

Eyebrows raised, she went for one last lick before responding. "It'll send you to the edges of the Land of Darkness."

Sam's eyes widened in shock briefly, before fury darkened them. "And why couldn't you have told us this before?"

Meg's gaze hardened. "Because you turned me human and locked me in a small room for three weeks."

"_You possessed me and made me ki_—"

"Sam! Stop. This isn't helping. Meg, what do you need to do this spell?"

"I lost all my hair for no reason," Sam grumbled under his breath.

"I did it for the viewers, Sammy," Meg cooed. "Trust me, we're all happier now."

"Meg! Spell! Ingredients!" Dean barked.

She sauntered over to the table and picked up a pen. "I can write them on Clarence's chest," she teased.

Castiel flushed, Dean threw up a little in his mouth, and Sam chucked her a notepad.

Dean's eyebrows rose steadily as he looked down the list.

"Fairy dust? Ground up unicorn horn? The hell? Unicorns aren't even real!"

"Neither are vampires, angels, or the Fountain of Youth," Sam said ironically. Dean glared at him, but conceded the point.

"I don't even know where to get all this crap," he said, tossing the list to Sam.

"I do. I've got a guy."

"You're not leaving here, Meg, and you're definitely not meeting up with any of your old pals," Dean said witheringly.

"So you trust me to cast a spell on you but not to go get the ingredients?" she said incredulously.

"Uh…"

"She's got a point, Dean," Sam said. "Why don't you and Cas just go with her? She doesn't need to know where we are. She could just tell him where to find her guy, we could blindfold her, and send her there and back."

Dean threw up his hands. "Fine! But if she brings back a demon army, I'm blaming you," he said, pointing a finger at Sam, who pursed his lips.

"I can take her," Castiel said, stepping forwards. "You can stay here with Sam."

"If you think there's a chance in hell I'm letting you drive my car, you need to get your head checked," Dean replied vehemently.

"Dean, the knowledge of how to operate everything, from a plane to a submarine to your car _is_ in my head," Castiel said irritably.

"I look like I care?" Dean said incredulously.

"Dean," Meg interjected. "The people I'm going to know your face. It'll be easier if it's just me and Castiel."

"What, they don't know what Cas looks like? Crowley made him public enemy number one!"

"Only with demons, and I'm not going to demons, I'm going to witches."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"Who the hell did you think I was going to?" Meg said in annoyance.

"No. No, no, and no some more. We can take a plane," Dean said tightly.

"Dean."

He looked over at Sam. He was drawn and pale, clutching the back of a chair, knuckles white, and Dean knew his brother well-enough to know that it was all he could do to keep from falling over. Dean swallowed.

"Fine," he bit out, fishing his keys from his pocket and flinging them hard enough at Cas's chest to bruise. "But if you so much as scratch her, I'm gonna tear you a new asshole. You hear me?"

"Yes," Castiel said carefully, wincing slightly as his hand closed on the keys. "I hear you."

They blindfolded Meg, and Cas led her out to the Impala. Dean followed close behind, fidgeting nervously. The only person he'd let drive her ever other than Sam was Meg, and that was only because they'd had literally no other options. The thought of letting Castiel, who could barely operate a stove, drive her was almost more than he could bear, whatever Cas claimed about his celestial knowledge of operating heavy machinery. Dean caught Castiel's arm before he got in the driver's seat. Cas looked at him inquisitively.

"Hurry," Dean said lowly. Cas nodded, seeming to truly understand the urgency of the situation, and for that, Dean could only feel gratitude.

Any concerns Dean had about his car all but flew out their non-existent window when he went back inside and saw Sam. Charlie and Kevin had dispersed, and Sam was curled up in a chair, head in hands.

"It's gotten worse, hasn't it?" Dean said, kneeling beside him. It was difficult to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, but he almost managed.

"Yeah," Sam said quietly.

"Come on," he said sternly, lifting Sam by the shoulders. Sam's amenability, rather than being a relief, scared Dean more than almost anything else.

The most worrisome issue, though, he reflected after getting Sam laid down in his bed, was the lack of consistency with Sam's symptoms. After the second trial, Sam had gotten progressively worse; now he fluctuated all over the place, from seeming almost normal to this barely breathing giant mass of Sam that Dean was looking at. That, honestly, was the scariest thing. The notion that at any moment, Sam's body might just give out, and there'd be no warning whatsoever.

"Dean," Sam mumbled, just as Dean was about to leave. "Stay a bit?"

In most circumstances, Dean would give Sam a hard time, but he found he simply didn't have it in him this time.

"Yeah, sure," he said, pulling up a chair. He glanced at the open door. No real reason to close it, but a niggling yearning to have a bit of privacy with his brother pushed him to shut it. There was a part of him that came out when he was taking care of Sam that he didn't really want anyone else to see, though he refused to give that part a name. He sat in the chair, hesitated a moment, then gave into his desire and pushed his brother's hair back.

"Again?" Sam's eyes drifted open, and Dean froze, feeling like he'd been caught doing something wrong, but Sam's voice was tinted with amusement. "It's fine, Dean. I like it."

Dean wavered for a moment, hand immobile in Sam's hair. Sam rolled his eyes and rotated his head so Dean's fingers continued their path through his hair. Dean relented, and stroked his brother's hair tentatively. Sam's eyes closed again. A rush of warm affection stole through Dean's whole body, and his hand shook. Their lives were so filled with anger and pain and horror and struggle that Dean's feelings for his brother were generally just a mix of possessive desperation and protectiveness. Rarely did he stop to think about what Sam actually meant to him, for fear that it would open up a can of worms he really wasn't prepared to deal with. Mainly because he was certain that if he actually took the time to think about it, he would be incapacitated with terror at the thought of losing him, and with the lives they lived Dean didn't have time to cope with that. Yet at this moment Sam's hair was soft and his scalp warm, though not as warm as it should be, enough to be alive, and Dean knew without a doubt that if it came down to it he would sell his soul a thousand times over to keep his brother here with him, beside him, for as long as they both lived.

**Chapter 7**

It took two days for Meg and Cas to return, during which time Dean managed to annoy even Charlie with his restless push-ups and jogs around the bunker. Kevin spent most of his time locked up in his room with the Angel Tablet. Sam seemed to be feeling a little better, but that wasn't as encouraging as he used to think it was. He knew that it was only a matter of time. Which was why every second that Meg and Castiel were gone was a second in which he wanted to strangle something. If they'd flown, they could be there by now, and Dean would finally have s_omething_ to do to help Sam. When he mentioned this, though, Sam reasonably pointed out that it would take them a long fucking time to figure out where the stupidly named "Land of Darkness" was located in a country of over 3,000 square miles. So Dean waited. So very patiently.

Meg was smirking as Castiel undid her blindfold. Dean watched warily while she rummaged through her various bags.

"You got her Twinkies?" Dean growled, and Cas shrugged, a little sheepishly.

"She asked," he said defensively.

Dean shook his head and turned back to her.

"You got everything you need?" he barked, perhaps a little harsher than necessary. Her smirk firmly in place, she shook her head.

"I need your blood, and Sam's."

"Why are you so happy?" he asked suspiciously.

"This spell, well…it's not the easiest. It'll be painful." Her expression was nothing short of gleeful. Dean glared.

"You sure she's human?" he snapped at Cas.

Castiel's lips thinned and he didn't respond, clearly more than done with this particular discussion. Dean exhaled sharply.

"Fine. Whatever. How long will it take you to put the spell together?"

"A few hours," she said, looking up. "You and Sam should get together some rubles."

Dean frowned. "Why?"

Meg raised her eyebrows, then spoke slowly, as if to a rather dim-witted child. "Because the spell sends you there, not back."

"I'll go," Charlie said, standing up. "It's not a good idea for you two to go out there."

"But it was fine for Cas?" Dean said disbelievingly.

"Not really," she acknowledged. "But there weren't a lot of other choices."

Dean gritted his teeth and waved her off impatiently. "There's some money in that cabinet," he gestured. She collected it and left. He looked back at Meg.

"You need our blood now?"

"No, I'll just cut your arms before the incantation. Go. Spend some time with your precious brother. It'll be the last time you can really see him until you reach the Fountain." She promptly began to ignore him. Feeling a little flustered and impotent, he asked, "Are there any special weapons I'll need? There are people there, right?"

She paused. "Theoretically," she admitted. "The legend goes that God created the Land of Darkness to both punish and imprison a Persian army and their Emperor, Saures, for persecuting Christians. He then hid the Fountain inside of it to protect it. Supposedly the army is still in there, but I have no idea what weapons you could use against them."

"Thanks," Dean muttered.

He went to the Impala and stood at the trunk, duffel in hand. "Screw it," he said, and bagged practically every type of weapon they had, from the demon killing knife to the Angel-Killing sword to his sawed-off. He wasn't taking any chances here.

"It's a good thing we won't need any food or water," Sam remarked dryly, when Dean plopped down next to Sam's bed with the bag in tow.

"Shuddup," Dean said, with no real spite. Sam grinned faintly. "All right, I'll go get us some supplies."

Sam was busy playing with the angel sword when Dean returned, his brow creased.

"What's up?"

Sam shook his head. "It's just…what if this doesn't work, Dean?"

Dean's gut clenched. "Sam, stop it. You can't think like that."

"But Dean—"

"_No_, Sam. We'll get through this stupid Darkness-place, you'll drink some God-juice, and we'll roll out of there and figure out how to stuff the angels back in the box, capisce?"

Sam stared at him. "You really couldn't think of a better term than 'God-juice'?"

Dean laughed, and Sam smiled, dropping the subject.

"Wanna play some gin?" Dean asked, grabbing a deck of cards off the table.

"Sure."

They passed the next few hours in companionable silence, and it felt almost like they were kids again, holed up in some cabin in the god-forsaken Montana winter, waiting for weeks for Dad to get back. Those were the best times, up until Sam turned about fourteen and started to associate Dean with Dad, thus directing his resentment at them both instead of just at Dad.

Dean pushed those thoughts away, focusing instead on the triumphant expression on Sam's face when Dean let him win. Despite all they'd been through, Dean still let Sam think he was better at cards.

"Boys?"

They looked up at Meg, poking her head through the door. A small tremor snaked its way through Dean's limbs.

"It's ready."

"Here are your passports, and your rubles," Charlie said a few minutes later, tucking them into a pouch in one of Dean's duffels. "_Don't_ lose them. I don't want to have to come rescue you two."

"Got it," Sam said, snagging the bag from Dean, who immediately grabbed it back.

"Yeah, I don't think so, Ariel. You can barely walk, no way you're carrying one of these."

"Dean, come on—"

"_No, _Sam—"

"Dean, he's right," Cas interjected. "You'll be leading the way. You need to have one hand free to defend yourself."

Dean clenched his fists, and it took all his patience not to shove the bag when he passed it back to Sam. "Fine. But you tell me if you need me to carry it."

"No, Sam, don't," Meg said, and if Dean didn't know any better, he would say it was concern creasing her brow. "You two have to be a silent as possible. If there is an undead army there, you really don't want to draw their attention. They've had nothing to do for the last thousand years except stew in anger and hate."

"Good point," Dean allowed, shuddering a little.

"Dean, I could go with you," Castiel offered, but Meg shook her head.

"The more people there, the more likely they'll be to notice you. Sam and Dean will be safest on their own," Meg asserted.

Dean eyed her, and could feel Sam doing the same. He really wanted to trust her, due in no small part to the fact that without her, they had little else to go on. She was human now, after all, but she had plenty of reasons to resent them. His gaze flickered to Castiel. He was looking at her with nothing less than adoration. Castiel might be a big baby in a lot of ways, but he of all people would be the last to have faith in a demon, even a former one, if he had a reason to. Dean looked back at Sam. He wouldn't charge Meg with Sam's life if she was the last person on Earth, but Cas…for all his many mistakes, Dean knew that Cas cared about them. He wouldn't trust someone if he thought they'd hurt Sam.

"All right, Endora," he said, clapping his hands together and finally turning to Meg. "Let's do this."

"Stand in that circle, and hold out your arms" she pointed. "Now would be the time to handcuff yourselves together."

Kevin, who had been standing back silently, handed them to Dean. "Be careful," Kevin said earnestly.

Dean nodded, cuffed his left hand to Sam's right, and held an angel sword with the other.

She picked up a silver bowl, filled with God-knew-what, a box of matches, and what looked like a gold dagger with silver edges. She sprinkled a bit of the mixture on both of their heads, and it was a bit too sparkly for Dean's liking, but whatever. She sliced into both of their forearms, holding the bowl underneath so it caught a few droplets of each.

"_Mitte ad terram tenebrosam, duo Domine_," she began, voice gravelly. "_Da mihi virtutem Hanyson mittere, si ambulaveris in via regum et servi digni sunt. Mittere silva facta male malis praesidio tenebat aquas. Mitte eis. Mitte eis_!" She lit the match, and dropped it into the bowl.

White light emanated from it, filling the circle, the room, burning Dean's eyes, his veins, boiling his blood, white hot knives piercing his very soul until Hell seemed like a sunburn at the beach. He was blistering, he was dying, nothing was ever going to be okay, ever again.

Then darkness.

He woke up surrounded by trees and mountains. "Sam," he grunted. He reached out his left hand and was relieved when it immediately knocked into Sam's right.

"Yep, I'm here," Sam groaned. "You good?"

"I'm super." Dean rubbed his forehead, feeling the effects of the spell. "Damn, she wasn't kidding."

Sam blinked at him. "You knew it was going to be like that?" he asked reproachfully.

"Uh…" Dean looked away contritely. "Yeah? Sorry, dude, I meant to tell you."

"Fantastic," Sam bitched. "Whoa." He shoved Dean's face.

"What?" Dean looked in the direction Sam was pointing. "Whoa."

Not a hundred feet away, a fog of—well, darkness, obscured the land. It stretched across the horizon, up into the sky, seemingly with no end.

"Fuck. I see why they call it the 'Land of Darkness'," Dean said, standing up.

"Dude, a little warning next time?" Sam said, wincing. Dean glanced back down, and realized that he'd yanked Sam's wrist pretty hard.

"Sorry, Sammy," he apologized, pulling him up, snatching the angel sword which had dropped out of his hand during the spell.

They both stared at it for a few minutes.

"Well," Dean said brightly, "It ain't gettin' any lighter. Let's go."

Sam didn't look terribly thrilled at the prospect, but he followed Dean without complaint when he started forwards.

Abkhazia was a surprisingly pretty country, Dean mused, glancing around. He'd always imagined the Middle East to be deserty and bloody, based on everything he'd ever heard about it, but there were mountains and trees and not a person in sight. It looked like the sort of place Dean had always kind of envisioned he'd want to live, if he could escape the life. Not that that was likely to happen, ever, but still.

Sam was also gazing at the mountains sort of wistfully.

"Remember when we were kids and Dad took us to those mountains in Arizona?" Sam said.

"The Catalinas?"

Sam nodded. "He was hunting a chupacabra. First hunt he ever took me along."

"I remember." Dean had been pretty damn opposed to that. It was one of the only times he had ever argued with Dad.

"You were so pissed," Sam laughed softly. "You tried to pretend like you weren't, but I could tell you didn't like it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really think a goddamn chupacabra was the best first time hunt for a thirteen year old," Dean muttered.

"You're probably right. But it turned out okay. I didn't get hurt," Sam reminded him.

"Only because I saved your ass," Dean scoffed. Sam shoved his shoulder into Dean's, but he could see a small smile curving his brother's lips.

They stopped about ten feet away from the edge, and glanced at each other.

"Well, Thelma. You ready to dive off this cliff?" Dean said.

"We've both gone to Hell without each other and survived," Sam replied wryly. "I think we can handle this together, Louise."

Dean grinned. Sam didn't usually play along. "Let's go, then."

He slipped his hand into Sam's mockingly, and stepped forwards.

**Chapter 8**

It wasn't just dark. It was _black_. His hand constricted on Sam's and what had been teasing thirty seconds before became a lifeline. Faintly, he thought he could hear voices in the distance. There was no trace of the place they had just come from, no light penetrating the dark. Dean felt a tiny bit of panic climb up his throat at the realization that they had no way out.

The air was clean and easy on Dean's lungs, perhaps even more so than the smog-infested air of most cities in America, but the darkness was oppressive, suffocating. Each breath he took was labored, his tight grip on Sam's hand slippery with sweat. The part that made him craziest, though, was not knowing whether it was all in his head or God meant it to be this way. The ground was rocky underfoot, completely different from the grassy landscape of Abkhazia.

"Dean."

Sam's voice crashed like glass and echoed through the land, and in his paranoia, Dean thought he could hear the murmuring voices coming closer. He whirled around and slapped a hand in the general direction of Sam's mouth, fumbling until he found it.

"Shut up, Sam," he hissed. Sam's body had gone rigid, and he at least seemed to understand that now was not the time to be making noise.

"Just stop squeezing my hand so tightly," he whispered back. Dean relaxed his hold, and realized that his fingers had almost gone numb.

"Sorry."

This was driving him up the friggin' wall. He and Sam had been training together since Sam was ten years old, and had worked side by side for the last nine years, minus the year they each took to try and fail at a normal life and relationship. They understood each other, knew how to work together and move around each other with barely more than a glance. Not being able to see Sam screwed it all up. In general, they didn't have a terribly touchy relationship, even in working together, except briefly to pull each other out of danger. So this whole communication by touch and nothing else was not something Dean exactly knew how to do. He was familiar with Sam's body from a distance and in fights, but not in a constant touching way. He didn't know why, precisely, it was so unnerving, but it was, and even he was able to recognize that his unease put them both in danger.

Dean was motionless facing Sam (he was pretty sure), and was stumped at how to proceed. He pulled at Sam's shirt collar, and he fortunately got the message and lowered his body to the ground in time with Dean's. Dean didn't want to speak and draw more attention to them, but he wasn't seeing a whole lot of other options here.

He touched Sam's hand where it was handcuffed to his own and ran it up Sam's arm and shoulder until he found Sam's face. He scooted forwards, guiding Sam's head towards his. He pressed his lips almost directly against Sam's ear.

"Okay, I know this is weird," he murmured, as soundlessly as possible. "But this is the only way we can talk so they won't hear us. Cool?"

Sam nodded, shivering slightly. Dean really hoped Sam wasn't getting worse. That was the last thing they needed in this place.

"I need you to stay right behind me, okay? Remember 'The Defiant Ones'?" Sam inclined his head, so Dean continued. "Just like that. I have to know you're all with me, and we need to be able to talk without talking." Dean was aware he sounded like a dumbass, but fortunately, Sam was fluent in Dean, and seemed to understand. "Let's stand up."

They cautiously stood, and did some tricky maneuvering trying to get Sam right at Dean's back. Dean was starting to wish he'd handcuffed both of their left hands together, but it was too late now. Dean was afraid if he uncuffed them to switch, Sam might slip away, and he'd be helpless to find him.

They quickly realized there was no way for Sam to stay behind him with the way they were cuffed. Feeling like a moron, he grabbed Sam's left hand and guided it to his belt. Sam looped his fingers around the leather, and it was awkward as all fuck, but Dean felt better enough about it that he was willing to endure it, and Sam didn't object. Dean settled his duffel in between Sam's arms, and they carefully began to move. Dean was a little scared that if one of them stumbled, they would both go crashing down, and bring the wrath of the entire undead Persian army storming upon them.

It seemed, though, that even like this they were able to work together. Dean did trip a few minutes later, but instead of bringing them both down, Sam caught him before he fell. Dean exhaled slowly, heart pounding.

Dean had no fucking clue what they were looking for. Or what _he_ was looking for, more accurately. If Meg was right, Sam needed to be wandering around obliviously. Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hand, and could feel his brother's head turn towards his. Dean stopped walking, and leaned forwards in the general direction of Sam's face. Their cheeks bumped, but Dean's mouth made it to Sam's ear.

"You're not looking for anything, right?" Dean confirmed, making sure his voice was as silent as humanly capable. "If you are, we can't find it."

Sam's skin heated under Dean's, and he knew Sam had forgotten. His cheek slid across Dean's, and his voice entered Dean's ear.

"Sorry. I'll stop." His breath was hot, his lips slightly chapped, and Dean knew why Sam had shivered. It felt really strange. They hadn't had this much extended contact since they were kids.

Dean nodded, wanting to talk as little as necessary, and hauled Sam forwards again.

Dean liked to think of himself as being in pretty good shape—the job sort of necessitated it—and he never smoked so he wouldn't impair his ability to breathe, but after less than three hours of blindly walking in one direction, his legs were aching, his lungs burning, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball on a soft bed. This place, it wasn't right. He could track a werewolf or a Wendigo all night long and feel strong after, but here he felt weak as a kitten. It was as if the land was sucking all the life out of him.

He stopped Sam with a hand on his chest. "You feel that?" he murmured, forehead leaning heavily on Sam's temple.

"I thought it was just me," Sam breathed shakily. Dean shook his head.

"We need to rest."

Among the many things that unnerved Dean about this place, not being able to find shelter was one of the biggies. There didn't appear to be any weather, but despite the fact that the voices hadn't come any closer, they hadn't ceased either, and Dean would feel a hell of a lot better if he had some place to conceal him and Sam. However, other than the sharps rocks he could feel even through his boots, there didn't seem to be anything at all in this place. They sank to the ground again, Dean wincing at the contact.

Silently, he fumbled through the duffels until he found their bottled water and food. He passed jerky and a Snickers to Sam, taking some almonds and licorice for himself. He didn't even bother searching for the whiskey. The last thing he needed was something that dulled his senses even more.

He touched Sam's hand when he was finished eating, and they tucked their trash into the bag. No sense leaving any traces. Dean's fingers hit his Zippo on their way out of the pocket, and he hesitated, sliding along the smooth, cool edges. He had never so desperately wanted light before, even when he woke up in his coffin. But he might as well fire a flare into the air. He reluctantly zipped the bag shut.

He managed to shove enough of the sharp-ass rocks out of the way so he and Sam could lie side by side. The ground was hard as fuck, but he could probably sleep on it. He really, really didn't want to, but he knew neither of them was going to get anywhere without any sleep, and he had no freaking sense of how far they had to go. He rolled up the two blankets Sam had had the foresight to grab for pillows. They did have to uncomfortably sleep on their arms face to face, because no way in hell was Dean leaving his stomach exposed, but he managed to get semi-accustomed to it. Sam's breath blew obnoxiously right in his nose, smelling of chocolate and dried meat, and Dean knew without a doubt that in a few hours that shit was going to turn rancid, but even sour breath meant Sam was alive, next to him, and that was all that really mattered.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Dean drifted awake, feeling, unfortunately, even groggier than before. He shook his head briskly, trying to clear it. That helped, but he continued to want sleep. He gradually sat up, scrubbing his eyelids with one hand. His other hand caught, and he remembered that he was handcuffed to his giant oaf of a brother. Dean resisted the urge to punch Sam's shoulder, and instead shook it lightly.

"Wha—?"

Dean lunged at Sam, covering his mouth quickly. He could feel his brother's body tense beneath his. Dean strained his hearing, but the unending voices didn't draw closer or get louder. He relaxed in relief, thunking his forehead against Sam's reprovingly. Sam's hand fumbled until it found Dean's arm, and he squeezed it in apology. Dean shook his head, and pulled Sam up.

Things started to bleed together after that. They walked, they ate, they slept. It was like being stuck in a Tolkien novel. The voices never stopped, and the lack of light screwed with Dean's sense of time. He couldn't tell how long they'd been wandering, and his sanity was starting to slip away. The lone thing that kept him grounded was Sam's body, warm and reassuring, pressed up against his at all times. It had gone from bizarre to the only thing that made sense anymore. Each time they lay down to sleep, they crept a little nearer, bodies curved close in desperation, breath mingling and foreheads pressed together.

One night (or whatever) Sam tentatively laced their fingers. Dean's eyes shot open, for all the good it did. In any other circumstance, it might have amused him that he could actually feel Sam giving him his all-powerful puppy-dog eyes, but now he just felt soothed. He rubbed his thumb against Sam's and shut his eyes again.

It seemed like they might wander forever in that god-forsaken wilderness, steadily running out of supplies and awkwardly trying to piss in front of but not on themselves or each other, until one morning they woke up, and it all went to shit.

"Dean, where are our bags?"

Sam's urgent voice in his ear shot him straight out of sleep, and he frantically felt around with the hand not being squeezed to death by Sam.

They were gone.

"Shit," he hissed, and Sam's pulse beat wildly beneath his fingers. The voices weren't any closer, but that was no longer comforting. Dean had assumed that they were far away, but now he had to wonder if the…whatever they were could be as near as they wanted but continue sound the same distance away. Cold prickles traced their way up his neck, and he realized he was shaking.

"We've gotta go. Now!"

He grabbed Sam's biceps and yanked him up. Sam stumbled along next to him, and they ran. Heart pounding, adrenaline racing through his veins, he had never been so fucking terrified in his life. All his weapons were gone. He had one hand free, a sick brother, and an enemy—a goddamn _army_—that he couldn't see. They were so, so screwed.

The voices finally began to get louder, though fuck if Dean could figure out what they were saying—probably speaking whatever language it was ancient Persians spoke; Sammy probably knew—but they had abandoned pretense, the foreplay was over, and they were being chased like friggin' animals.

It was Dean who fell first. Something reached out and grabbed his leg, and he went down, Sam going with him this time.

Dean frantically kicked at the thing with the toe of his boot while its sharp claws sank into his leg.

"DEAN!"

He could hear Sam's arms swinging blindly through the air, until they smacked against something. The sound shattered through the air. It let go of Dean's leg, but didn't make a sound, and how was that for a mind fuck?

Dean tried to get to his feet, but his leg was wobbly, as if that thing's claws had been poisoned. He scrabbled at Sam's shoulder frantically.

Everything went silent.

The voices were gone for the first time, but oddly the silence was so much worse. Something was drawing near them. The air seemed to vanish, and Dean wheezed heavily, heard Sam doing the same. They fell to their knees almost simultaneously, and Dean could feel when the thing reached them. There was no noise, no breathing, no red, creepy eyes. Nothing.

Then his chest seized upwards, and his life, his soul, was being sucked out of him. He wasn't sure why or how, because they were no longer touching, but he could feel the same happening to Sam.

"No," he choked out. "Sammy…please…." His voice failed him, the oxygen emptied from his lungs, and he was done, it was over, he'd failed.

_I just wanted to make him better. He's everything. Let him live. He's all that matters._

_Please, just save him._

The ground beneath them disappeared and the thing's hold on them broke. Though it made no sound, he could feel its fury rip through them. But they were falling, falling, and its presence evaporated. Dean still couldn't see anything, however, he knew the darkness was gone. He could breathe again.

Then they crashed.

**Chapter 9**

If Dean had ever bothered to wonder what the Garden of Eden might look like, he figured it would be something like this. His pupils spent a few painful moments adjusting, and then things became clear.

Sunlight filtered unobtrusively through trees so tall they'd put California red woods to shame. Birds tittered and rabbits played in bushes blooming with unnaturally large pink and blue flowers. Smaller trees bearing various fruits were scattered around, and raccoons tossed strawberries to each other. The grass looked like it had been drawn in by an overzealous Disney animator, and there wasn't a fire ant in sight.

At the center of it all lay a glittering pool. It wasn't a stream, but the water seemed to sparkle with movement, twinkling blue. It was breathtaking.

He glanced at Sam to see his reaction, but his brother was out cold, and seemed completely uninterested in waking up. His pulse was sure and strong, nonetheless, so Dean tried not to worry.

He looked back at the pool, the trees, the animals that looked a hell of a lot cleaner than he felt, and he couldn't help smiling. Then a unicorn appeared.

No. Just…no. Vampires, angels, fairies, fine. He could deal with that. But this was just too much. It looked exactly like every legend ever said: white coat, tail gleaming rainbow, bright blue eyes, and a freaking shimmery horn. He'd really though Meg had been screwing with him. Then another one emerged behind it. Then another, and another, until there were no less than ten unicorns drinking from the pool.

"Oh, come _on_," he groaned.

Laughter resonated from the trees, and Dean shot straight up, reaching for a gun he didn't have. He cursed, and tried to stand, but he was weighed down by his Sasquatch little brother. He looked forward.

A man stepped out of the trees and into the herd of unicorns, stroking the first one's mane. They all kind of looked alike, but that one was a smidge bigger.

The man had a young face, but his long hair and beard were pure white. He was dressed in flowing grass-green robes, and didn't have any shoes.

"Lemme guess," Dean said warily. "Khizr, or al-Khidr, right?"

"I have many names," he said. His voice was kind, and Dean couldn't quite place his accent. It almost sounded like every accent possible simultaneously. "But Khizr will do fine." Khizr focused on the handcuffs linking Dean to Sam. "No need for those anymore."

They disappeared without preamble. Dean felt a small sense of loss tug at his heart. He ignored it and rubbed his blisters. They really should have wrapped their wrists in something. His leg trembled beneath him, still bleeding, but he stood resilient.

"So, uh, thanks for saving us," Dean said awkwardly, feeling like an idiot.

"I didn't save you," Khizr replied, petting the coat of a different unicorn. "You saved yourself."

Great. Another immortal being who wanted to ply him with riddles. Well, he was too tired and too concerned about Sam to play along.

"Awesome. So how does this work?"

Khizr looked up sharply, and, with a sinking sensation in his stomach, Dean knew he'd screwed up. Things like this always wanted to play the game before giving up the goods. Suppressing an impatient sigh, he corrected, "How did I save myself?"

With a slightly satisfied tilt to his smile, Khizr turned back to his unicorn. "You were facing death. But all that mattered to you was saving your brother. It is only with that kind of selflessness that one is allowed here."

Dean wasn't entirely sure how selfless his desire to save his brother was, but he wasn't about to voice that aloud.

Almost to himself, Khizr added, "Perhaps if Alexander had looked for the Fountain to save Hephaestion, he would have found it, as you have to save Sam."

Dean had absolutely no clue what to say to that, mostly because he had no idea who Hephaestion was. Sam probably knew. Sam, who had always been so much smarter than Dean, whatever bullshit he might spout about Dean being a genius aside. Sam, who was dying.

"Hey, um, I don't mean to be rude, but my brother kind of needs help."

Khizr seemed to emerge from a trance, and left his unicorn to walk over to them. Dean tensed slightly, moving his body so it blocked Sam's. Khizr smiled.

"So protective. So much love. No wonder you two almost ended the world with it." He knelt down next to Sam, guarded by Dean's legs. "Dean," he said soothingly. "Let me see your brother."

Hesitantly, with no small amount of trepidation, he stepped aside. Khizr laid his hand against Sam's cheek, and he woke with a gasp.

"Dean—what—where—_what_?"

"It's okay," Dean said hurriedly, dropping down and grabbing Sam's shoulder. "I'm here. We made it, Sammy."

Relief reverberated visibly through Sam's whole body, and he sagged. "Thank god."

"Don't thank god," Khizr said in amusement, standing back up. "Thank your brother."

Sam looked at Dean, and he didn't need to say a word.

"Now," Khizr said, in a business-only tone. "Dean, you are the only one who may drink from the pool of life, however," he added, when Dean began to open his mouth in outrage, "Your brother is allowed to consume the water."

It took Dean approximately ten seconds to realize what Khizr was saying, and he promptly started to feel bad for Sam. Sam, however, didn't appear disturbed at all.

"Thanks," he said to Khizr earnestly. "Thank you."

Khizr inclined his head, and Dean was more than done with the small talk. Tugging Sam along with him, he walked over to the pool. It seemed to glow a bit brighter when he sat beside it. Dean glanced back at Khizr.

"Do I have to use a special cup, or something?"

Khizr laughed and shook his head.

"Well, here goes nothin'," Dean muttered, and plunged his head straight into the water.

It was like nothing else he'd ever experienced. The water was icy, but it felt invigorating rather than excruciating. He tried to fill his mouth with as much of it as possible without swallowing, and it tasted—not to sound too maudlin—like life. It was as if everything that made all the humans and animals and plants on earth exist was surrounding his head and setting his taste buds alight. It tasted like nothing and like every amazing dish he'd ever had.

He tore free from the pool, holding the water in tightly, fumbling for his brother's shirt. He yanked him forwards, crashing their mouths together and pushing all of the water into Sam's. Sam swallowed everything Dean gave him, but a tiny bit of life trickled down Dean's throat, and he could feel it transforming him, changing him. Sam brought up his hands and cradled Dean's face as if he was the most precious damn thing in the world, and the cool water rushed through Dean's veins, sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes, washing away the dusty dark that had built up inside him. It reached his broken mind, his tattered soul, and…healed him. It was like what angels could do, except deeper, more profound. All of the pain and anger that had plagued him his entire life just flowed out of him, evaporating in the warm glow of the sun. He remembered everything that had happened to him, to Sam. Mom's death, Dad's obsession, disapproval, Sam's abandonment for Stanford, Dad's death, Sam's death, going to Hell cause he couldn't bear to lose him, then feeling betrayed by both Sam and Castiel so many times, and, worst of all, losing Sam again and again. How it had ripped him apart no matter how pissed off at his brother he was. But all of that was gone now. A weight, a bitterness, which he had grown so accustomed to carrying, was gone. The subconscious distrust and fear was gone. He was whole again.

They broke apart, panting, hands clutching at the other's face, foreheads touching, eyes shut.

"Dean?" Sam sounded wrecked. "You okay?"

Dean nodded, eyes screwed up. "Yeah." He…it…his voice was different. Lighter. His eyes shot open and fixated on Sam's face.

Sam looked about ten years younger. The lines had gone from his face, but it was more than that. He looked like Dean felt, as if something long shattered in him was restored. Dean swallowed thickly, and pushed Sam's hair back. "You look young," he breathed.

"So do you." Sam's puppy dog look was back, though with a slightly mischievous edge. "So what, we gonna live forever now?"

"No."

They looked up simultaneously. Khizr was sitting a few meters away, staring at the pool. "The water of life chooses what gifts to impart on those who drink it. Of the gifts you were given, immortality was not one of them. Besides," he looked up at them, smile gentle, "I don't think either of you truly want to live forever."

Dean shook his head. "No. Not really." Sam nodded in agreement.

"What gifts were we given, exactly?" Sam inquired, and Dean could hear a small amount of apprehension in his tone.

"The ability to be happy." Khizr came and sat next to them. "It repaired your minds and souls, and changed a few other things."

"What does that mean?" Dean probed warily. Khizr watched him for a few moments in silence.

"Your friends need you." He reached out both hands. "Go." He touched two fingers to each of their temples, and they were gone.

**Chapter 10**

Dean woke up to the morning sun breaking over the horizon. Sam was already awake, sitting beside him with his knees drawn up, arms laced around them, watching the sunlight with a reverence he hadn't shown since he was a kid. He was beautiful.

Dean blinked rapidly. In his whole life, he had never thought of another man, much less his little brother, as beautiful. The fuck?

"Dean." Sam nudged his shoulder. "You awake?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, swiping at Sam's hands and sitting up. They were surrounded by mountains and lush green forest. It wasn't quite the Disney-esque landscape that they'd left, but it remained pretty magnificent. "Are we still in Abkhazia?"

"Think so."

"Awesome," Dean groaned. "Guess it would have been way too much trouble to blast us all the way back to America."

"You just don't want to fly," Sam teased.

"It's a waste of money!" Dean protested.

"Yeah, sure. By the way, check it out."

Dean looked to where Sam was pointing. Their duffel bags were sitting a few feet away.

"Awesome!" He crawled over and grabbed them, searching the contents. Their weapons were all there, and their provisions had been replenished. He fished his phone out of one of the pockets and turned it on. It was fully charged. "At least that guy didn't leave us out in the cold." He pulled up Google maps and checked their location. They were about 100 miles away from a seaside city called Sukhumi. "Found a port city. Let's roll."

"Wait." Sam caught his arm when Dean started to stand. "Can we just…stay here a few minutes?"

"What for?"

Sam gestured at the horizon.

Dean rolled his eyes but plopped down next to his brother. Sam curled his fingers in Dean's, and it wasn't nearly as weird as it should be. They must have just gotten in the habit of constant contact. Then Sam laid his head on Dean's shoulder, and it got weird. Dean cleared his throat.

"Come on, we're burnin' daylight."

Sam grumbled, but rose with him.

The breeze was a little nippy, but it was fortifying. After God-knows how long trapped in that place, light and fresh air felt more amazing than he would ever admit aloud. More than that, he felt happier than he had in years, perhaps since before Mom died.

Sam was smiling at him, and Dean's stomach did a little flip. "What?"

"You just look so happy. I've never seen you like this."

A grin stole across Dean's face. "Well, I haven't felt this good for a long time."

"Neither have I. I don't know if I ever have." He looked at Dean, a little shyly. "Thanks, big brother."

Dean lightly punched Sam on the shoulder. "You're welcome, Sasquatch."

They walked until the sun started to set, and made camp under a tree. They didn't have any tents, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and plenty of dead wood for a fire. The night was a bit chillier than the day, and Dean gratefully warmed his hands by the fire.

It was strange, feeling so young, none of the aches and pains he was used to plaguing him anymore. Even stranger was every time he looked at Sam. It was like peering through a tunnel into the past. They'd never spent a lot of time taking pictures of each other, so Dean had almost forgotten what his little brother used to look like, most of his wrinkles gone, and his smile containing a joy which had vanished some time ago. Dean suspected now that that joy had died when Dean told him they could never be truly close again.

"You know I was wrong, right?"

Sam looked up at him from the fire. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"When I said that we could never be what we were. I think we can. I think we are."

Sam's smile almost split his face in half, breaking Dean's heart just a little. He scooted over to where Dean was sitting and bumped their shoulders together. "Thanks," he whispered. Dean flushed, and tried to cover it by rummaging in one of the duffels. He tossed Sam a saran wrapped sandwich.

"We didn't bring these," Sam frowned.

"Yeah, that dude must of put them in."

"Dude?" Sam said in amazement. "He's the immortal guardian of the Fountain of Youth."

"Whatever." Dean munched on his own sandwich, ham, salami, tomato, onions, and jalapenos with mayonnaise and mustard on white bread. "Man, that dude must be a mind reader."

"I was just thinking that," Sam said, contemplating his own, turkey, spinach, tomato on whole wheat, no condiments.

They finished their meal in companionable silence, and watched the fire for a while.

"We should sleep," Dean said eventually. "Get an early start. We need to get back to the bunker, figure out this angel deal."

"Yeah. We're damn lucky we haven't run into any of them yet."

Dean snagged the blankets, tossing one to Sam. The fire was warm enough that he could use the blanket as a pillow, which was nice. He lay down facing the flames, grateful for the orange light which filtered through his eyelids.

They opened at the feeling of Sam lying down next to him.

"Sammy?" He rolled over to look at his brother, who appeared a little embarrassed.

"Do you mind? I just…I got used to it."

Dean hesitated. There was no need to anymore, and they were grown men. Yet Sam looked so hopeful, and Dean had never been that great at refusing him. "Nah, it's fine." He felt a little hotter, but he rotated back towards the fire. Sam wasn't touching him, still, his body was radiating heat that affected Dean as much as the flames. He gazed at the orange-blue flickers, hyperaware of every sensation racing along his skin. Maybe it was an effect of the water, enhanced sensitivity. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

He woke up to sunlight shining weakly through the trees, the sky still gray from night. Sam was on his back, mouth open, like usual, some drool drying on his cheek. Dean smirked fondly, and rubbed it away with the sleeve of his jacket. Sam's eyes started to slide open, and squinted at the light. He batted at Dean's hand feebly, rolling over onto his stomach.

"Nu-uh, Sleeping Beauty," Dean said, smacking him on the shoulder. "The sooner we get me to hot food, and you to a shower," he wrinkled his nose, "The better."

"You don't exactly smell like daisies and roses either," Sam grumped, getting lazily and reluctantly to his feet.

They were about 60 miles from Sukhumi, so they'd probably be stuck on the road for another two days. Dean was seriously starting to miss his baby.

He and Sam bantered back and forth for a while about Lord of the Rings versus the new Hobbit movie, whether or not Star Trek was better than Star Wars (They both agreed that Star Trek was leagues better than Star Wars in both plot and character development, though Star Wars could be fun to watch), and got into yet another argument about licorice. Dean also found himself spending an inordinate amount of time trying to convince Sam that he had neither read nor seen any of the Harry Potter books/movies (Total lie).

By the time they made camp that night, they were both grinning from ear to ear, and the affectionate bubble that had been building up in him since he drank from the Fountain was threatening to burst.

They ate their dinner in companionable silence, perhaps a little closer than strictly necessary. When they were done, they watched the stars like they used to. Dean glanced at Sam, at the stars and firelight dancing across his features. Dean's fingers fidgeted with a sudden desire to hold his brother's hand again. He flexed them over his knees, nails scraping against the fabric.

"Dude," Sam said, noticing. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Dean lied. Sam looked amused, as if he knew what was going through Dean's mind, the bastard. Sam inched a little closer, knocking his knuckles to Dean's.

"This what you want?" he asked softly.

Dean swallowed. His mouth opened, but he couldn't get anything out.

"It's okay, Dean."

It wasn't. It really, really wasn't. He just didn't know why.

Their wrists brushed lightly while Sam slid their palms together. Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

"It's okay," Sam repeated. He gently tugged Dean's hand, and they lay down together, Sam's chest pressed against his back, while his other hand slipped beneath Dean's shirt to splay across his bare stomach. Dean's body fixed into one tense line.

"Hey." Sam's hand tightened. "Relax."

Dean did, minutely, heart pounding. They had slept close together in the LoD, but this felt different. Sam's grip loosened, and he massaged his fingers against Dean's skin. "Dean. Stop thinking so hard. That's my job."

Dean snorted quietly, and he relaxed further into the heat of Sam's body.

"Go to sleep," Sam finished. Dean didn't really intend to, intended to move as soon as Sam fell asleep, but he was warm, and Dean was tired.

When he woke up, it was daybreak, and Sam was gathering their things.

"Up and at-em, kiddo," Sam said brightly, leaning down and smacking Dean's hip. "We're only twenty miles away from Sukhumi. We can probably make it there today."

"Awesome," Dean mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sam seemed completely normal, as if he hadn't just spent the night spooning with his older brother. Dean contemplated bringing it up, but Sam looked so happy, and Dean was never really the one to initiate serious conversations anyway. Besides, they'd get a motel room tonight, if they had any luck, so the problem would be solved. Dean resolutely ignored the part of him that insisted it wasn't really a problem, and got ready to head out.

They didn't reach Sukhumi until the sun was starting to set. For a city that had been ravaged by civil war only a few years before it was oddly vibrant. It was situated on an ocean ("It's the Black Sea," Sam helpfully provided), and had plenty of trees and buildings, both modern and ancient.

The people stared at them as they walked through the streets, and it took quite a few tries before they found someone who spoke enough English to point them in the direction of a hotel.

The place they were directed to was a tad intimidating. It had a circular outside, and seemed to be carved from white marble. It was a hell of a lot bigger and more lavish than any hotel they would ever dream of going to in the U.S. But they were tired, and not interested in wandering around trying to find another.

The staff didn't seem terribly thrilled to see two dirty ass Americans walk through their door, but they became more than accommodating once they saw the number of rubles Dean produced. He and Sam were led up to a room with white beds and a pretty spectacular view. More importantly, a shower.

"Dibs!" Dean declared, slamming the door on Sam's resentful face.

Hot water. Soap. Shampoo. The buildup of grime from a mystical land washing away from him, and everything, everything was okay again.

Sam flew past him the second he stepped out of the bathroom. Dean snagged the only pair of clean briefs he brought with him and collapsed wearily on the bed. The _bed_. Dear god, how he'd missed beds. Sam emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, and if his moan was anything to go by once he'd flopped on his, he'd missed beds too. Sam revolved around till he was facing Dean, one hand propped on his head.

"Room service?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"_Fuck_, yes," Dean exclaimed, sitting up. Sam tossed him a menu. Along with a shit ton of things Dean couldn't pronounce, they sold burgers. _Burgers_. "Oh my god, Sammy, they have burgers."

Sam laughed, and they ordered a couple. Dean flicked on the T.V., and managed to find a station playing Big Bang Theory reruns. He wanted to keep clicking, but Sam wrestled the remote away from him and insisted that he loved the show. Dean grumbled, but let Sam have his way.

"Yours are better," Sam pronounced thirty minutes later, after starting on his cheeseburger.

"Obviously," Dean said, but it still tasted like heaven to him, even though it was a little smaller than he really wanted it to be. He finished his much faster than Sam, and started eyeing the burger Sam was only half finished with.

"Don't even think about it," Sam warned, shooting him the evil eye.

"What? I wasn't thinking anything," Dean said innocently, looking back at the television. The little short dude with glasses was making out with the hot blonde. Dean had to give it to him, the guy had game. As least he assumed so. He hadn't really been paying attention, truth be told. Most of his awareness had been centered on Sam. On his smile, his laughter. On the fact that he looked almost exactly like the Sam he'd grabbed from Stanford nine years ago, when there was tension between them because of the drama that had happened, but not even close to the amount that had built up since then. Tension that seemed gone now. Dean marveled at it. How had some water managed to wipe away the bitterness but not the memories? Yeah, sure, it was God-water, but still.

"What, Dean?" Sam said, finally noticing Dean's staring.

"Just—do you feel different now?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, of course. We already talked about that," Sam said, peering at Dean in curiosity.

"No, I mean towards me. Like—like—"

"Like the last six years never happened?" Sam completed. Dean nodded. Sam exhaled. "I thought it was just me."

"It's not." They stared at each other. Sam shifted on his bed, pushing his plate aside. He fidgeted for a second, and then slowly, carefully, like he was approaching a frightened animal, sat next to Dean on his bed. Goosebumps rising on his skin, Dean went very still.

"I think maybe that's what Khizr was talking about when he said gifts," Sam said tentatively. "That the water changed us, gave us the ability to be happy. I'm happiest when you and I are good."

"Me too," Dean replied.

Sam reached out, and traced his fingers over the back of Dean's wrist. His pulse sped up.

"Sammy. What're you—"

He broke off. Sam's hand had glided from Dean's wrist to the back of his head, gently running through his short hair. Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he had no idea why Sam's touch was affecting him this much. It never had before.

Sam leaned forward, stopping a few inches from his face. His gaze was searching, evaluating. Dean felt laid open, bare beneath Sam's hazel eyes. His hand skimmed from Dean's hair across his cheek, catching the corner of Dean's lips with his thumb, before dropping to his lap.

"We should sleep," Sam said quietly.

Dean nodded jerkily, trying not to think about the small ball of disappointment pooling in his stomach. Sam slid beneath the covers next to him, wrapping one long arm around Dean's stomach, holding him in place against Sam's front. Sam pushed one leg in between his thighs. Dean tried to breathe evenly.

"Sleep, Dean." There was a note of steel in Sam's voice, which Dean had almost never heard before. He closed his eyes, and obeyed.

**Chapter 11**

They managed to secure a ride on a boat that would take them to Burgas, Bulgaria, where they could catch a flight back to Kansas. Charlie sounded relieved beyond all reason when they managed to get in touch with her, and promised that she would schedule their flights, email them their itinerary, and be at the airport to pick them up ("_Don't_ take my car!" Dean warned).

Regrettably, the boat wasn't due to leave for a week.

"So!" Sam said brightly, after they got off the phone with Charlie. "I was thinking we could hit the Botanical Gardens first, find a nice spot to have lunch, then we could go see the monkey garden, and finish off the day with a visit to the Promenade!"

Dean eyed the brochures Sam thrust at him dubiously. They were brightly colored, with large print and poor English. He gingerly took the one about the Botanical Gardens and flipped through it. Sam's face, happy and expectant, loomed over him. Dean sighed inwardly.

"Sounds great!"

Most of their week passed in that fashion, Sam dragging him to every tourist site available, including old Soviet buildings. They ate at a different restaurant every night, few of the menus being in English. Sam was quite enthusiastic about this. Dean not so much. They did manage to find a few places that served food Dean recognized, but Sam refused to go back to them later.

Dean's favorite part of Sukhumi was the beach ("It's called the _Promenade_, Dean."). The only thing he insisted upon was that they go there at sunset every day.

Dean had never shared this with anyone, but seeing the ocean was one of his favorite things to do. The salty air, the sand that squished underfoot, the moment when you abandon all reason and plunge into the icy water…. The real reason, though, was that the only time he got to see the ocean when he was a kid was when his mom convinced his dad to go. Dean could still remember the way the sunlight bounced across her blonde hair, the way she would roll around the sand with him with no thought to how dirty she got. She helped him build castles, and swung him around in the sea so his toes were barely touching the water, sending a spray right into Dad's face.

"Dean?"

He jerked out his reverie. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and Sam was gazing at him in concern.

"What's up, Sammy?" he asked, with forced jocularity.

"You just looked…" Sam studied his face. "Sad."

"I'm fine."

Dean pushed himself off the sand and headed back to their hotel. Sam followed silently.

Every night they continued to sleep side by side. Sam behaved exactly like he always was during the day, but once they got in bed, he changed. Dean wasn't sure how he would describe it. He was still _Sam_, all long limbs, furnace of a body, and soft hair, but, in the quiet moments before they fell asleep, Sam would pull Dean close to him, tangling their legs and lacing his fingers through Dean's. Tonight was no different. Except for the part where it was.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

Sam's hand tightened around his. "This doesn't bother you, does it?"

"_Now _you're asking?"

Sam shrugged. Dean turned over into his arms. The lamps were off, but the city lights filtered through their curtains, and he could see Sam's face. It was completely serious. Dean brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his brother's hair.

"If it did, I wouldn't be here."

Sam laid his hand over Dean's.

"So you'd let me know if anything I did bothered you?"

"Of course."

Sam rolled them over until he was on top of Dean, hands pushing his wrists into the mattress.

"Are you sure?"

Sam was kneeling between Dean's legs, heat bleeding through their clothing. Not for the first time, Dean wondered what exactly the water had done to them.

The muscles in his throat working, Dean nodded.

Sam's eyes, dark and molten, examined his, flicking back and forth. A tiny noise of frustration escaped Dean.

"What?" Sam whispered. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean opened his mouth, but words failed him. There was only one word he could think of, and it wasn't a pretty one.

Sam leaned down, bumping his nose against Dean's. His next words were spoken quietly, breath warm and damp.

"You have to tell me."

But Dean couldn't. He couldn't say it, because Sam was his little brother, the person he'd been charged with protecting almost his entire life.

"Please," he choked out. It was all he had. It would have to be enough for Sam.

It was.

Sam's lips met his, bruising, almost punishing in their intensity. Dean whimpered into Sam's mouth, feeling helpless and needy. Sam growled, body and dick a hard line against Dean's. He pushed his tongue into Dean's mouth, hot and wet and so fucking good. Dean flexed his fingers, desperate to wrap his arms around his brother, but Sam seemed completely uninterested in letting Dean have any say in what was happening. And Sam called _him_ bossy.

Sam pulled away, Dean's mouth chasing his. Sam nudged his chin aside and licked a long stripe up his neck. Dean quivered, and Sam sank his teeth into delicate flesh. Dean's hips attempted to buck, but Sam, stronger and larger, held him down. He transferred Dean's wrists to one of his huge hands, using the other to push down both his and Dean's briefs. Dean inhaled swiftly when Sam's body shoved against his again, bare cock gliding against his stomach.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, feeling wrecked. All the magic water in the world wasn't going to change the fact that it was his little brother between his legs, his little brother about to fuck him. Suddenly it felt like all the wrongness of what they were about to do caught up with his brain. Sam seemed to know exactly what Dean was thinking.

"Hey, it's okay," Sam said soothingly, pressing his lips against Dean's. His eyes slid shut and he opened his mouth. He knew he would feel embarrassed at how pliant he was being later, but right now the warm weight of Sam's body covering his and Sam's mouth claiming Dean's like it belonged to him was the only thing holding him together. And perhaps it did belong to him. Maybe it always had. He vaguely noticing Sam was rummaging in the drawer by their bed while they were kissing, but he didn't really care. At least, not until he noticed what Sam had in his hand.

"Yeah?" Sam asked. The little bottle of lubricant made this seem a hell of a lot more real than Dean was prepared to deal with.

"Yeah," he agreed, and then Sam was kissing him again, distracting him enough that he didn't jump at the first lubricated finger tracing his hole. His nails dug into Sam's shoulders, and he realized he was trembling all over.

"Shhh," Sam murmured. "Deep breaths."

Dean pressed his face into Sam's neck and tried to do as he was told. Sam's finger finally entered him, and a tiny whine escaped Dean's throat. Sam's other hand wrapped around the back of Dean's head while he rotated his finger around, getting Dean used to it. Sam nibbled on Dean's ear, whispering reassurances as he added a second finger. Dean inhaled sharply when Sam's fingers hit _something_, something amazing and wonderful that probably had a name Dean couldn't think of right now. Sam took advantage of Dean's surprise to carefully spread his fingers apart, stretching Dean even further. By the time he added a third finger, Dean was shivering all over, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he couldn't figure out if he wanted to run or beg Sam to go faster.

"Have you done this before?" Dean panted. Sam made a little noise of embarrassment.

"No. I…I did some research."

"Research," Dean said faintly. Sam pushed his fingers further in.

"Ready?" Sam asked apprehensively.

"As I'll ever be," Dean affirmed. Sam slicked up his cock, and when the blunt head was nudging at Dean's hole, he almost called the whole thing off. But he bit his lip, closed his eyes, and waited.

Sam slowly, so slowly, pushed the head of his dick past the tight ring of muscles. It—fuck it hurt. More than that, he felt so damn defenseless, Sam's hand holding his wrists down again. He knew Sam would stop the second Dean asked him to, but it sent a little chill up his spine to know that he couldn't stop him if Sam didn't.

"Dean," Sam said, voice soft but firm. "You need to relax, or this is going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it needs to."

"Yeah, okay." Dean agreed anxiously, and tried to will his body to calm down. He was so busy concentrating that he didn't even notice Sam was all the way in until his balls were resting against Dean's skin.

"You good?" Sam was scanning Dean's face, concerned.

"I'm good," Dean groaned. "Just…go." He wrapped his legs around Sam's waist, and urged him on.

Sam pulled out very slightly, and thrust back in, still studying Dean's face closely.

"Talk to me, man," Sam said tightly. "What does it feel like?"

Dean huffed, trying to think straight. "It feels like I have my brother's giant dick shoved up my ass. It fucking hurts."

Sam grinned, and changed positions slightly. "Now?"

"It. Still. Hurts. Oh, _shit_."

In the middle of Dean's bitching, Sam had shifted again, and now his dick was dragging over that spot inside him. Sparks shone in Dean's vision, and he whimpered involuntarily. Sam cocked an eyebrow.

"Better?" he teased.

"Fuck you."

"If you say so."

Sam gripped the back of Dean's neck, still holding his wrists in place, and Dean felt safe, protected, and he never would have guessed that the kid he'd spent his whole damn life looking after, keeping safe, could make him feel this way. "It's gonna be okay," Sam murmured. "I've got you."

Dean wanted to tell Sam to shut the hell up, he wasn't some girl, but he couldn't seem to find his voice at the moment, and who the fuck cared, anyway? Sam's thrusts were measured, drawn out, and Dean was about to smack him over the head.

"For Christ's sake, Sam," Dean bit out. "_Move_."

The hand holding his neck slipped down to his thigh, pushing it up and over Sam's shoulder, and he obliged. He let go of Dean's wrists and wrapped his arm around Dean's back, holding him close and driving into him, harder, faster. Tiny noises emitted from Dean's mouth, and he inwardly vowed to punch Sam in the face if he ever used that against him. Not that Sam would. Sam had _tact_.

Sam claimed his lips in a kiss again, and Dean let his brother ravage his mouth, fucking into it the way his cock was his ass. Dean's dick was trapped between their bodies, the friction more than sufficient, so Dean clutched Sam's neck with his freed hands and held on for dear life. His orgasm was building in his lower abdomen, spreading through his limbs, his heart, blood rushing to the surface, and then he was coming, hot spurts coating both of their chests as his body convulsed. He drifted along the edges of consciousness while Sam continued to pound into him, and Dean pressed his face under Sam's chin, mouthing at the skin there, until Sam shuddered, liquid heat emptying inside Dean. Sam collapsed on top of him, lazily licking and biting at his neck, pliant as a day-old kitten. Dean grinned, and ran his hand through Sam's hair.

"We good?" Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, we're good." And for once, Dean meant it.

**Epilogue**

The boat ride was a couple of days long. Dean had never been on a boat before, not like this, and Sam teased him mercilessly about his seasickness. Dean just wasn't meant to ride around in anything but his Impala.

"You know we're not gonna go around holdin' hands, or anything like that, right?" Dean said, as their boat neared the dock.

"I'm heartbroken," Sam deadpanned. Dean shoved their shoulders together. "We gonna share a bed when we get back?"

"Yeah," Dean said after a couple seconds. "I want to."

"What are we gonna tell the others?"

Dean gazed at the rippling water, enjoying the salty breeze on his face. "That it's none of their business."

"You really think they'll go for that?"

Dean snorted. "Probably not, but screw it, our lair, our rules."

Sam snickered.

They were only in Burgas for half a day, so they spent most of it in the airport, which didn't thrill Sam.

"We're not missing this flight so you can go around looking at museums," Dean said flatly.

Sam looked out the window with equal parts longing and resentment. Dean felt a little guilty.

"Hey, tell you what. Once we shove the angels back in the box, we'll come back to Europe. You can spend a few weeks geeking out over the art and history and shit, while I sample the local brews and see if I can't hustle foreigners as well as back-country hicks."

Sam grinned, and it was a bit too smug for Dean not to think he'd been played.

"Hey, it's okay. We'll be fine."

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam's laughter was making Dean want to punch things, like a wall, or Sam's face, but the flight attendants might frown upon that, and if Dean was honest, Sam's ability to laugh instead of constantly grimacing in pain was more important than Dean's perfectly rational fear of flying.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam continued, oblivious to Dean's slight fratricidal urges, "Calm down. We're going to be on this plane for the next forty three hours. You can't stay freaked out the entire time."

"Watch me," Dean growled. Sam rolled his eyes and covered Dean's clenched fist with his hand. His stupidly warm, reassuring hand. "Hey, what did I say about hand-holding?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Sam said with dismissive amusement.

Dean _would_ shove him away, but the contact was soothing, and, though Dean didn't want to admit it, gave him a tiny amount of fuzzy affection in his belly. His fist unclenched, and Sam threaded his fingers through Dean's idly. On some level, Dean understood that that nonchalance was calculated on Sam's part to get Dean to go along with it, but he managed to disregard that awareness, because it felt too damn good, and Dean had always been more than capable of ignoring thoughts he didn't want to have.

Forty three hours and two panic attacks later, they were landing in the Kansas City airport.

"Dean," Sam nudged him awake, and Dean was fairly certain that Sam had drugged him with the Xanax he'd managed to persuade the woman across the aisle to part with.

"Awesome." Dean staggered to his feet, grateful that Sam had waited to wake him up until the plane was almost empty.

They snagged their duffel of weapons from baggage claim, and met Charlie out front.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, tackling him. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Yeah, me too," Sam grinned.

Charlie then enveloped Dean in a hug as well, as much as her tiny frame could. "I'm so happy for you," she whispered in his ear. His arms tightened around her, and he kissed the side of her head.

Dean fell asleep on the four hour drive back, still a little woozy, and woke up when Charlie's car came to a stop in front of their bunker.

"We'll meet you inside," Sam told her. She nodded, looking between them with a slightly curious expression, and got out of the car.

"She have any news?" Dean yawned, getting out of the car and stretching.

"Yep. Kevin thinks he has a lead. He's close to translating it. The angels have been wreaking havoc all over the US, trying to find us."

"Guess we should get inside then."

"Hey, wait." Sam caught his arm.

"What?"

Sam pulled him close and kissed him gently, holding Dean's face between his gargantuan hands. Dean's eyes slid shut and he let the sensations wash over him. Sam broke away, but only a few centimeters. "Just wanted to do that before we got bombarded by the Scooby gang," he said, breath hot on Dean's lips.

"I'm cool with that," Dean smirked.

Sam rubbed his cheek gently with his thumb. "Come on." He slipped his hand into Dean's and pulled him towards the door.

"We've got work to do."

**End**


End file.
